Point Blanc
by WaddleBuff
Summary: Valoran is in turmoil. Two Zaunite embassies have been wiped off the face of Runeterra, with Noxus in the blame. The next Rune War is imminent, and only LSMI6 can stop it. Sending Agent 007 to infiltrate a secret base of operations, the peace of Valoran lies on his shoulders. Unbeknownst to all, an ancient, forgotten influence builds its power from within the shadows. M for lemons.
1. Prologue

Smoggy, musky, dirty.

Zaun bustled within this thick pungent air in the middle of an ordinary afternoon.

The winter temperature engulfing the rest of the continent is unfelt, the impenetrable encasing of smog trapping hot greenhouse gases to keep the city-state's occupants nice and warm.

On the elevated streets suspended upon brown, rusty steel girders miles above a plethora of marshland and chemicals, citizens of the city-state shoved and pushed their way between the towering spikes of dilapidated metal surrounding them. Some of these people found pushing and shoving other citizens to not be a challenge at all, their efforts aided by long, strange, animal-like appendages protruding from their bodies as a result of Zaun's infamous anatomical augmentation surgeries.

The twisted buildings lining these elevated bustling streets looked on wearily, their faces slowly continuing their decomposition. Each architectural structures is squished together tightly like fine cigars in metal boxes, except segments of each building meshed and melded with neighboring structures in an uneven puzzle of rusty steel and concrete.

Within this crusty labyrinth of skyscraping edifices, a few majestic-looking buildings stand, incongruous between its dilapidated counterparts. Unlike the patched towers of rusty steel that dominated the Zaunite cityscape, these buildings are constructed of sandstone-plastered bricks, resulting in a more regal appearance. Even with the same basic building materials however, each and every structure varies greatly.

Each one has its own distinct style, characterized by effigies and provocative architectural accouterments that suits their respective owners.

These majestic buildings are the assorted embassies of the most influential powers on Runeterra.

Gleaming in whatever sunlight penetrated through the thick veil of smog, large steel letters classified each embassy to its respective city-state.

Beginning from the right, the first embassy is draped in blue and gold, large stone gargoyles and mythical creatures guarding its stepped entrance. A bronze dome jutted out at the very center of the embassy's roof, shining in only a fraction of its luster as a result of Zaun's dismal sunlight. A triangular peak stuck out from the roof, supported by opulent, shining marble columns. In the center of it all, golden letters read _DEMACIA_.

Moving along to its immediate left, the next embassy is somewhat dwarfed by its surrounding counterparts, the building merely half the size of the Demacian embassy to its right. But its small stature is made up for with its beautiful landscaping and architectural accessories; the few stone walls are adorned with intricate carvings of stone mountains, blossoming sakura trees and towering pagodas. Atop its stone carved roof a majestic bronze dragon peers down upon curious passerby with a vigilant gaze. Hanging above a red double-door entrance embedded with dozens of golden orbs, an obsidian plaque is engraved with intricate letters spelling out _IONIA_.

To its left a grey-hued imposing marble structure stood, its design as strong and great as Demacia's embassy. But instead of being draped in bright gold and blue hues, this embassy bathed in the color of sharp crimson, the reds wavering in the banners and flags that flowed in the breeze. Imposing effigies of past rulers stood near the embassy's entrance, gazing into the streets below with pompous glares. Black marble columns stood engraved with sayings and proverbs. At the foot of the stone steps, a sign jutted out from the ground, its steel surface stamped with letters reading NOXUS.

These three main embassies gave way to other embassies representing Freljord, Piltover, Bilgewater, and Zaun itself. Upon the steps of these embassies, few entered and exited, most of the staff within these government-branch buildings keeping to themselves.

Along their gates, several tourists snapped pictures in delight, sticking the lenses of their cameras between steel bars. Every once in a while a tourist would break out into a verbal tussle with another tourist that came from an opposing city-state, prompting guards standing at the embassies' entrances to break the two apart.

To be curt, it seemed like a normal day for Zaun's embassy street. The security did their job well, making sure nothing could harm their respective embassy's staff or government officials.

On the steps of Ionia's embassy, two robed men were engaged in a heated argument. One is dressed in the golds and blues of Demacia, one in the blacks and reds of Noxus. Much to its keepers' chagrin, arguments happened often near the entrance of Ionia's embassy. Nobody from the Demacian embassy dared to venture into the Noxian embassy, nor did anyone from the Noxian embassy dare venture into the Demacian embassy. Seeing that Ionia was the middle ground, zealous citizens of each city-state would engage in conversations, which almost always lead to arguments.

"But you don't understand! Our current government is the most viable in the current society of this continent. We fight for justice, we fight for the right. Demacia is-"

"Oh, cut the spiel. We've all heard it before. Look, I can understand how you see Demacia's government as 'viable', but Noxus is obviously the most sensible regime ever to exist. We judge our rulers by their strength, not by their bloodlines."

"And is that why you have this infamous 'House of Du Couteau'?"

"That's not even relevant to what we're talking about! Okay, I can explain that perfe-"

_BVWAAAAAAH-….KOOOOOM!_

The men's conversation was suddenly cut short; as were their lives.

A blinding light engulfed everything in the surrounding proximity of the Demacian and Ionian embassies, the ground shaking violently to throw every person standing near the embassies to their feet. Eardrums popped, bones cracked. Then flames flowered into the air, explosions rocking the suspended cradle of buildings to their very core.

In just a few seconds, everything on the street of embassies is in chaos, smoke and dust hindering anyone to see. Rubble flew in every direction, clusters of concrete and marble whizzing at dangerous speeds through the air. Heat continued to flower outward as the explosions proceeded to grow in intensity until finally the shaking stopped.

After a few minutes people began to recover from shock. Soon the sound of screaming and the chaotic shuffling of feet ensued. The dust of the explosions settled, revealing the Ionian and Demacian embassies to be nothing but burning rubble, the great walls of the two superpowers crumbled to the ground. Bodies litter the entire perimeter, every person that had been within the blast radius of the explosions lifeless. The Noxian embassy suffered minimal damage; the only proof it had of experiencing the sudden explosions being a gaping hole in its east wall.

Though the sudden explosions had stopped, chaos continued; all around people ran about, desperate to get away in the case of more unexplained events occurring. Men and women rushed out of each embassy, expressions and emotions varying with each person. It seemed that nobody knew what to do.

But far upwards, nestled within a rusty crevice between two Zaunite skyscrapers, a dark hooded figure stood. As a result of the high altitude, the whistling of wind occupied its ears, the aftermath of the sudden explosions seemingly small in its vantage point.

Its eyes surveyed the scene with a hint of amusement, a grin crossing its face. It watched the multitude of people flee the scene in a flash, the sound of aircraft and sirens beginning to resound through the air as the authorities began to rush to the site. Taking this as its prompt to leave, the hooded figure reached within its coat pocket, extracting a black box, sealed with a golden latch.

Giving the package a small cursory glance, the figure proceeded to hurl it into the air, eyes following its progress as it fell until it finally landed into the burning rubble of the Ionian embassy with a clack. Seeing that his work was finished, the hooded figure walked into the rusty alleyway, vanishing from sight.

It didn't see another darkly clad silhouette crouched in the shadows across from its alley. Following the hooded figure's exit, the silhouette reached for her ear, uttering newly acquired information. Once her speech ended, she continued to stare out into the open air, the flickering flames from below dancing within her emerald eyes, a stray lock of silver hair brushing against her face.

Then a medical helicarrier rumbled past, its wide propellers throwing blades of wind in every direction.

With that, the silhouette disappeared.

* * *

In the following months, the chaos continued.

Blame was thrown in every direction, causing political turmoil all across the continent. Nearly every power in Valoran, no matter how big or small, joined in the verbal war with eager support. Tension between Noxus and Demacia rose to dangerous heights, the peace of the continent proceeding to stretch itself until it became taut. On the Fields of Justice, matches between Demacia and Noxus raged every single day, the battles growing more and more serious.

Ever since the bombings occurred with the embassies in Zaun, Demacia instantly held Noxus responsible. Ionia made the decision to withdraw from the conflicts, not wanting to get involved. People questioned Ionia's position in the heated political trouble, especially since their embassy was also blown away by the blasts. But with the two main superpowers of Runeterra beginning to grow more hostile by the day, the public's attention was quickly diverted.

Meanwhile, Noxus denied every accusation and assumption thrown in their direction. As the days went on, the government began to retaliate by challenging Demacia to an increased amount of League matches, further adding fuel to the fire.

But this is what was only happening on the surface.

Beneath it all, the secret world of information bustled with an even busier boil.

Right when the bombings occurred, the Demacian Intelligence Agency (or the DIA for short) immediately went to work to find the perpetrators. Sending several undercover operatives to Noxus, the powerful city-state hoped to find the ones responsible as soon as possible.

Expecting infiltrators in their midst, the Noxian Extra-Military Espionagie, Systems, and Infiltration Section, NEMESIS, dispatched operatives of their own to keep an eye on the DIA headquarters, watching their every move.

Unbeknownst to all of Valoran's secret services, the fabled League of Summoners Military Intelligence Section 6-LSMI6 for short- was already a step ahead of the game.

Field operatives under the cover of medical and fire staff quickly rushed onto the scene before any crime investigation unit (assured to have undercover field operatives from other intelligence organizations) could arrive. Immediately scouring the smoking remains of the embassies for any evidence that could lead to the perpetrators, the agents strangely did not find any bomb residue or any explosive remains at all.

Instead, what they found was a box.

Within the latched container, there lay a small parchment of paper, a date and a place written upon its surface in black ink. This was LSMI6's only lead, the only proof that could lead them to the perpetrators.

But one night, the box, their only lead, disappeared without a trace.

Frantic, the institution sent out every one of their best agents across the continent, searching for the lost piece of evidence.

If they didn't obtain the information soon, something else could happen that would tip the scales of peace in Valoran.

Time was running low, and the possibility of another Rune War grew larger and larger.

* * *

_**Point Blanc**_


	2. Dock Bay Chase

A crowd of Zaunites bustled about through the cramped hallway of one of the city-states' famed airports. Unbeknownst to the majority of the throng, in the shadows above a suited figure crouched, hand placed upon an earpiece lodged within his head.

His intense blue-grey eyes shined from the gloom, trained on a man wandering about within the sea of people below, trying desperately to look inconspicuous.

"Don't look so bloody obvious," the crouched man spat, a grimace forming on his face.

"_S-Sorry sir. I'll try not to sir_," his subordinate replied through the intercom.

In response the man gives an irritated grunt, eyes maintaining their glare.

His face is young but worn, an almost invisible scar running down the right side of his face. His lips are set to a tight frown, eyes set and concentrated.

A flash of arcane mist flashed over his eyes for a millisecond, a small indicator of his profession as a Summoner.

Very few knew the man's name; he was merely addressed as 'Summoner' by his cohorts and acquaintances.

But to most, he was known by the alias given by his employers: Agent Double-O-Seven.

After his assignment at Casino Royale Demacia was cut short, the Summoner was immediately reassigned to stakeout the location printed written on the parchment that lay within the sought-after black box. A subordinate officer was sent alongside him on the specified date of meeting.

The two agents had been staying within the airport all morning and all afternoon, waiting for something, anything to happen; the sheer vagueness of the information contained within the box they were chasing after did not shed any light on what was going to happen at the airport, leaving the two field operatives sitting around.

The Summoner suddenly cocked his head as his earpiece began to buzz with static before a voice began to speak from the other end.

"_Double-O-Seven…_zzzt, _Double-O-Seven. Do you read?_"

"Loud and clear."

"_Good. Any progress?_" the voice on the other end was the somewhat raspy feminine tone of M, the head of LSMI6. At the current time, the elderly superior was seated behind her desk with her hands folded, her eyes possessing their usual serious glare. In front of her a legion of technicians and operatives worked behind glowing consoles, monitoring the moves of every agent currently operating in the field.

At his superior's inquiry, the Summoner grinned bitterly.

"I'm sure you could ask one of the tech boys 'bout that ma'am."

A scratchy sigh made its way through the earpiece.

M rubbed her temples with her fingers, her face as tired as the Summoner's.

It was true that she already knew that there wasn't any "progress" to be had. In fact, the superior had merely dialed in her best agent just for stimulus.

If something didn't happen soon, it seemed the whole day would be wasted without the desired intel in their possession.

Hearing M silently resigning, the Summoner blinked in annoyance. His eyes lost a twinge of their fierceness, the boredom in his psyche beginning to surface to become more apparent. Yes, it was a tad bit immature for the professional field operative to be bored while on assignment, but the circumstances called for no other reaction.

The dullness continued to permeate the wireless comlink between the Summoner and headquarters, the hushed bustle of the airport intermingling with the muffled _clickity-clak_s of typing fingers. The ground beneath his shoes occasionally rumbled and shook as a result of a Zaunite rocket being hurled into the dark depths of space by a pillar of fire and smoke.

None of the Zaunites paid any mind to this; since the space race between Zaun and Bandle City had begun several months ago with the success of Teemo being the first organism in orbit, the two city-states had been launching rockets into the cosmos every day. Just a few weeks ago, Zaun had been on the headlines of every major news media outlet in Valoran, a result of their success of launching Nautilus, Titan of the Depths into orbit. Though no one really knew the true reason why the hulking behemoth agreed to such a scientific endeavor, the public praised the Titan for his courage all the same.

Though the occasional rocket launches had shocked the Summoner and his cohort during their initial arrival in the rusty city-state, after several hours of dull inactivity the two field operatives grew accustomed to the rumblings, until the duo would not even bat an eye whenever a distant rocket was launched.

All the factors leading up to this point resulted in the utmost boredom, the muscles in the Summoner's body itching for activity.

Then, as if on cue, the Summoner's entire body jolted upright at the sound of his subordinate's voice speaking calmly through the comlink. Eyes quickly searching through the sea of bodies below him, the Summoner caught sight of the subordinate, leaning against a wall next to a figure whose face is shrouded with an upturned collar and a wide-brimmed hat. A steel briefcase dangled from his right hand, and after glancing at it with his clairvoyant vision, the Summoner could see the black box inside of it, along with its small parchment of paper.

Finally, progress.

Hundreds of feet beneath the Institute of War, M leaned forward in her chair, ears also listening intently to the dialogue beginning to blossom.

Through the comlink, M and the Summoner listened intently to the dialogue between the subordinate and the mysterious figure. Their words filtered through the earpieces in muffled tones. The subordinate suddenly went quiet, the deep baritone of the unknown figure was currently speaking.

"…_luck. And timing. I wish you these things for your cause._"

"_I don't understand. Why did you bring us here? What cause?_"

A deep laugh.

"_We just want some good-natured fun, you see. A game. A game that involves you, Valoran, and your precious League of Summoners." _The man chuckled again. "_Not to mention, your 'secret' service."_

At this, the intercom resounded with scratchy fuzz as the agent let out a nervous burst of air. Still, the Summoner silently commended him for continuing to maintain his calm composure. His thin frame seemed to shudder with every breath. The Summoner could tell his subordinate was growing nervous.

_Keep it together…_

"_H-How do you know about us?_" the agent asked, his shaky tone still somehow maintaining its cool.

Another throaty chuckle.

"_It is unbelievable how your precious organization knows almost nothing about us, even if they boast of being the most informed intelligence agency on Runeterra. You will discover who we are soon enough, but for now, the only thing you need to know is that our time has finally come. We have been planning this for centuries. Now that our rise has begun, _nothing _can stop us. Not even your precious LSMI6. I will have you understand that since our assault began, hope for your so-called 'peace' or 'balance' has already been diminished. We are now merely playing around._"

During his monologue, the Summoner took careful note of the man's voice; judging by his strong, throaty accent, he was definitely Noxian by origin. Also observing the man's physical features, the Summoner could tell that he was physically resilient; faint outlines of his biceps could be seen through his cloak, along with broad shoulders resting upon a tall, strong frame.

The small blue bar indicating his mana supply embedded into his watch lowered slightly when the Summoner proceeded to use his clairvoyant vision once more to peer through the cloaked man's layers of fabric. The Summoner's eyes widened at the sight of the man's hand grasping a Noxian PSS Captive piston pistol, a government-issued silent pistol that was infamous for its soundless terminal performance.

This man was there to send a message.

One scrawled in blood.

But before the Summoner could warn his subordinate, it was already too late.

The intercom buzzed to life once more with the man's baritone voice.

"_Listen well, double-o-seven,"_ the Summoner shifted his jaw in surprise at the man's sudden utterance of his alias. "_We both know what is going to happen to your subordinate, and we also both know what you will have to accomplish to obtain this,_" the man looked upwards into the rafters of the airport, his gaze directly meeting the Summoner's as he slightly raised the silver suitcase. "_As I have stated, this is all just part of a game._" A sinister grin crossed the man's face as he tore his gaze from the Summoner to look back at the pale-faced, bewildered subordinate.

"_So, let the game begin."_

With that, the Summoner could hear the muffled shot of the PSS. Immediately, the man briskly walked away from the now-lifeless subordinate, who was still strangely standing upright against the wall. The Summoner's eyes followed the fleeing man, instantly recognizing the man's path to be headed outside into the airport's private docking bay.

"Agent down," the Summoner uttered, already at his feet.

A brief cursory glance with clairvoyance at his subordinate's corpse revealed his upright posture was a result of a few pinioning runes hastily placed within his jacket pocket. Without hesitating any longer, the Summoner quickly began to run towards the light of the outside world, his footsteps clanging against the steel floor of the platform he had been hiding in.

Mid-run, the Summoner reached for his earpiece as the blinding light of Zaun's atmosphere came closer and closer. The bustling sounds of the airport hallway began to diminish as the outer world's spread-out ambiance began to encompass his hearing.

"In pursuit of assailant. En route to private docking bay," the Summoner said sharply into his earpiece, his eyes squinting at the harsh light assaulting his eyes as he jumped out into the main walkway of the docking bay, exiting a ventilation shaft ten feet off the ground.

Flaying his arms for balance with his black tie whipping past his head, his athletic body finally landed onto the concrete ground, his legs bent as a result of his crouching landing position. Some passerby let out surprised outbursts at his arrival, his head instantly swiveling about in search for his target.

Few seconds pass before the Summoner catches sight of the cloaked man, the dim orange sunlight glinting off the silver briefcase he clutched with his hand. Contrary to his brisk walk within the airport's main hallway, the man was now running at a full-on dash. Instantly jolting up, the Summoner broke into a sprint to match the man's pace. The man was less than ten yards away, but with the amount of people clogging up the docks' walkway it was difficult to maintain a good tailing distance.

The man knew the Summoner was on his tail, and occasionally looked over his shoulder to see if his pace was fast enough to keep his pursuer at bay.

The two men shoved past a legion of Zaunites and tourists, completely disregarding the angry yells and shouts aimed at their direction.

It was unusually busy on the private docking bay, considering the fact that only wealthy citizens or visitors could afford to own an airship to dock at the airport outcrop. The private docking bay housed hundreds of privately owned aircraft. It resembled a ship dock that was commonly found on the island of Bilgewater, except for the fact that the ships and the dock itself was suspended hundreds of feet off the ground with several levels.

The dock was definitely a sight to behold, the various aircraft lodged within its confines reflecting the light of the sun, its brown steel supports arching and supporting at seemingly impossible angles to create a huge intricate maze of suspended steel.

But of course, the Summoner could care less about the grandeur of this architectural marvel during his pursuit.

His target suddenly took a turn into an outcrop, leading outwards toward docked airships varying from majestic zeppelins to small, humble hovercopters. Quickly following suit, the Summoner immediately extracted the Walther PPK from his blazer's pocket. His sprinting footfalls resounded against the hollow steel walkway as the passerby thinned out to occasional lone airship owners making their way to respective vehicles.

The man in front of him also drew his weapon, turning around at intervals to begin shooting his PSS piston pistol. Each shot was silent, only the sound of bullets contacting with the ground echoing through the dull, smoggy air. Sparks flowered from the brass walkway below the Summoner's feet as each bullet barely missed.

The Summoner slowed his pace considerably, stopping every so often to take cover behind the various trashcans and toppled service bots that littered the otherwise pristine private docking bay. He returned fire sparingly, careful to aim his shots with intent to kill.

Suddenly the chase changed its pace as his target jumped off the walkway to land onto another walkway below, softening the fall with a full-body barrel roll. As the Summoner followed the man's progress, he staggers back a bit as sparks flew into his face because his target loosing several shots into the edge of the walkway below him.

The Summoner's eyes are suddenly met with the back his target already running at full sprint. Grimacing in concentration, the Summoner emulated the fleeing man's previous maneuver, landing on the steel walkway several feet below him with a full-body roll. Instantly getting to his feet, the Summoner proceeded to sprint as fast as his legs could carry him.

He ignores the sporadic appearance of aircraft zooming above or below his body, his eyes still set on the man before him. His target suddenly disappeared as he turned round the next corner, causing the Summoner to stop; it was imprudent to follow an armed assailant around a corner in such a manner, lest he wanted to risk getting shot.

Lowering the bar in the gauge embedded into his watch once more, the Summoner's eyes flashed to a bright blue as clairvoyance once again clouded his eyes. Instantly his sight bores through the airships obstructing his vision, allowing him to follow his target's progress. Just as suspected, the man was crouched behind a rusty dumpster, with his piston pistol at ready.

Quickly moving to action before the man could suspect anything, the Summoner runs to the specified corner, his eyes maintaining their blue glare. Reaching into his suit pocket, he extracts a duplication rune, bringing it to his lips to mutter a quick incantation. All at once the small, glowing stone disappears in a mist to instead be replaced by a life-size copy of the Summoner. Immediately, the flickering duplicate runs around the corner to be met by the gunfire of the crouched assailant.

The Summoner surveyed the scene as his duplicate falls to the ground with bullets torn through its body, blood beginning to blossom on its tattered dress shirt. Upon seeing this, his target arises from his position to walk over to the fallen effigy, suitcase in hand.

Immediately, the Summoner turns on his heel around the corner, pointing his Walther PPK directly at the man standing above his duplicate. Several shots ring out throughout the air as he lets loose several rounds from his handgun. In mere seconds, his target falls to his knees, clutching his chest.

The Summoner smiles as his duplicate fades away to mist, his target falling facedown upon it with his eyes agape. The Summoner walks over victoriously to the corpse before burrowing his brow in disbelief; his target's corpse had faded away, along with the briefcase.

A duplication.

His target must have emulated his action of sending out a duplication rune, giving him more time to escape.

Gritting his teeth, the Summoner raised his head, eyes searching through the dock for his escaped assailant. Sure enough, the man had already run at least a hundred yards away, suitcase still in tow.

"Godsdammit," the Summoner spat, his feet beginning to bring him to a sprint.

"_What's wrong double-o-seven?_" M inquired, her technicians continuing to clack away at their terminals.

"Nothing ma'am. Still in pursuit of assailant."

One eye still maintaining his clairvoyant vision, the Summoner proceeded to resume his chase.

He continued to frantically dash toward his target, who was now two levels above him, almost two hundred yards away from his current location.

There was no way for him to catch up on foot.

Suddenly, the Summoner turns his head as a high-speed whizzing zooms past his ears. For the first time since his pursuit, the Summoner notices the intricate wirework placed beneath the pathways of the dock carrying crates to respective levels of the private bay at high velocities. At this, an idea crossed his mind, causing him to stop. His eyes dart back and forth between his targets current location and the irregular whizzing of crates being whisked away on the steel wires by strong, metal wheels.

Then his gaze turned down below to be met with the ground, hundreds upon hundreds of feet below him. The Summoner almost grew queasy at the sheer height (It was amazing how none of these walkways had no guardrails to prevent anyone from falling to their death). His mind is also assaulted with the the factor that at least five feet lay between him and the wire, along with the fact that he had to perfectly land his hands on a passing crate or he would plummet all the way below to Zaun's ground level.

But seeing that his target was more than three hundred yards away, there was no other choice.

Quickly pocketing his handgun, the Summoner began to take deep breaths. Slowly stepping back from the edge of the steel walkway, he unbuttoned his grey pick-and-pick blazer, allowing optimum leeway for his next maneuver. His breaths became concentrated and focused, eyes reducing themselves to slits.

A distant _zip _indicated the passing of another crate. The Summoner let the crate speed by him as his chest heaved. The next one was his.

His target was now almost four hundred yards away, two levels above his head.

Then, as his ear heard the distant whizzing sound once more, the Summoner began to run, arms pumping in the air, lips pursed with concentrated intakes of air. Each step he took pounded against the steel platform beneath him, until his next step met nothing but air.

Time seemed to slow as his feet left the platform, his arms gyrating in the air. The Summoner could feel his stomach drop, the sensation increasing his heart rate exponentially. Then, he shut his eyes, throwing forward his hands for the airborne lifesaver that he prayed would be there.

All the Summoner could hear was his breaths, his legs running on air.

In this span of time, he wondered if this decision was wise. If the crate came too early, he would plummet to his death. If the crate zoomed by too late…he would plummet to his death.

The Summoner shook these thoughts from his head. This was the only option. After all, field operatives must utilize everything in their disposal to get the job done.

All he had to do now was hold his breath and see if this tool would aid his mission, or aid his death.

* * *

_*cue suspenseful string section riff*_

_Haha, well sorry for not updating _anything _for a while. I just got a little confused as to what to update._

_Anyway, each chapter in Point Blanc will be 3k words each, and I plan to update it at least once a week._

_Expect a lemon chapter after next. :3_


	3. A Demonstration

To the Summoner, the moment seemed to last forever, his body suspended midair as the pounding of his heart echoed through his brain.

Then, his hands meet with splintery wood, and he feels his entire body dragging along through the air.

All at once, the Summoner's senses returned, warm air rushing to meet his face as he zoomed across the thin metal wire along with the crate. His tie whips against his face, further awakening his senses to the current situation. The Summoner pants heavily, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

But there was no time for relief; danger was still very much present.

Getting a good grip on the crate with his right arm, the Summoner holds his breath as he releases his left hand from the crate. He swings his entire body underneath the cargo, and with a yell threw his left hand upwards to grasp the opposite edge of the wooden box.

Letting go his held breath, the Summoner allowed the crate to drag him along the makeshift zipline, the distance between him and his target closing fast. The Summoner's eyes are forced to squint as the rushing air quickly dried out the surface of his eyeballs.

Airborne ships and rusty steel beams zoomed past him during his flight. One eye still glowing blue, the Summoner kept track of his target as their distance began to close. The high-speed zipline weaved precariously in between steel supports and various other obstacles, its pace maintained by various boosters situated at locations where the speed of the crate would lessen.

In a few seconds, the Summoner had already covered more than a hundred feet. By now his knuckles had turned white from the intense grip he placed on the crate above his head. He grits his teeth as he feels his grasp on the cargo begin to slip, splinters of wood digging into his exposed flesh.

_Come on…hold it together. Only a few yards more…_

But this in turn wasn't the only predicament; the zipline the Summoner was traveling upon snaked its way two levels _above _his target. Once he caught up, the Summoner would have to find some way to actually get to the man amidst the labyrinth of steel walkways and airships.

The man was a mere two hundred yards away by now, running down a spiral staircase to descend to yet another level.

Wonderful.

The Summoner's left hand suddenly slipped, his body being held up by only his right arm. He groans in pain as his left hand is embedded with several splinters of the crate. Instinctively, green arcane wisps of healing magic surround the wounds, immediately extracting the wooden slivers and patching up the grisly cuts in his fingers.

Wincing, the Summoner looked in dismay at his target, still several yards away.

_Just a little more…_

Unable to hold onto the crate any longer, the Summoner finally releases his grip, landing onto a steel platform with a painful roll. Not allowing himself to recuperate, he instantly breaks into a sprint, finally catching up to his target...two levels below him.

Seeing an opportunity to intercept the man up ahead, the Summoner dashes forward whilst extracting the Walther PPK from his blazer's inner pocket. His right eye finally extinguishes its blue flame, returning the Summoner's vision to normal; from this point on, no clairvoyance was required.

Running as fast as his legs could propel him, the Summoner finally reached the edge of the freestanding platform, and once again jumped into the air. The plummeting feeling again occupied his midriff as he freefell precariously close to an airborne hovercarrier. Time slowed as he plummeted, one, two levels until…

…his feet landed atop his target harshly, bringing both men to fall down onto the ground in a heap. Both of them yelled in pain at the sudden landing, with the Summoner's target winning the shouting contest by a landslide. After quickly gathering his senses, the Summoner realized his Walther PPK had been dropped a few feet away from him as a result of his plummet from two levels above. Once feeling the writing mass of muscle below his legs, the Summoner immediately went to work with his target, attempting to restrain and pin him down with his arms.

Groaning with effort, the Summoner fully realized the sheer strength of his target. The man's face was red from the effort exerted into the struggle, his once-hidden head now completely exposed as a result of his hat being thrown off by the Summoner's fall. His face is pinned down against the bronze walkway by one of the Summoner's hands as the struggle of strength continued.

His physical prowess proved to be too much for the Summoner to restrain, and after less than a minute of tousling about, the man rose up with a mighty yell to throw the Summoner off his back as a wild horse would do to an imprudent rider. The air is knocked out of the Summoner's lungs as he lands on his back…right next to his black Walther PPK.

Immediately grabbing his trusty firearm, the Summoner hastily scrambled to the nearest cover as his target began to fire his piston pistol with the silver suitcase firmly grasped in his left hand. High-pitched pangs screamed into the Summoner's ear as the bullets made contact with his cover.

_PTING! PTING!PTING!_

Silence.

Once he heard the rounds stop, the Summoner instantly arose from his defensive crouch, letting loose several rounds of his own at the man's exposed head. The loud gunshots resounded throughout the steel beams of the docking bay, accompanied by the shrill pangs of metal against metal as the target raised the silver suitcase to shield his face. He returned fire blindly, missing the Summoner's progressing body by several feet.

_BANG! BANG! CHK. CHK. CHK._

The unholy sound of his pistol's cry for another loaded magazine caused the Summoner to groan. At the same time, his target's gun also ran out of shots, prompting the two men to begin yet another chase on foot. The men shared a look of understanding once the Summoner's target lowered the silver suitcase, and simultaneously loaded fresh mags into their handguns before dashing at a full-sprint.

This time, the chase required much more ducking and jumping as a result of their current location beneath the main docking bay. Underneath the steel labyrinth, their footfalls resounded much more strongly as the echoes bounced and duplicated among the steel beams and supports surrounding them. As they progressed further and further, the twisted metal foliage of the rusty jungle continued to grow denser, until finally all sunlight is diminished to small streams of light peeking through small slits above their heads.

Strong smells of gasoline and oil assault their noses, as they ran through the underbelly of the Zaunite airport where excess petroleum waste from airships was deposited. The surfaces of the rusty steel beams and arches utterly reeked of the strong-smelling fossil fuels, and occasionally the two men slipped on a stray pool of oil. On more than one occasion during the intense chase, the Summoner and his target nearly lost their heads to stray cargo swinging on rusty chains.

Every chance they had, the men would take turns shooting at each other through the murky gloom, the fire exiting their weapons' mouths illuminating the darkness encompassing their vision. This endless firefight continued as the target took turn after turn within the dark maze of rust and steel, his route seemingly planned.

Finally, both men stopped.

A dead end.

Turning round to face his pursuer, the man shook his head with a grin on his face, obviously impressed. His large visage is drenched in sweat, short brown hair sticking to his skin like scales on a fish. His gun was pointed at the ground, but the Summoner took no chances; his two arms connected at his PPK's grip, its nozzle aimed at the man's head.

"Impressive, Mr. 007. Very impressive. I must say, I myself have never had so much fun in my life. It is no wonder that our leader seeks you out to have the last laugh."

The Summoner raised a brow, his eye twitching at the droplet of sweat that trickled down his nose as a result. He kept his gun steady, careful to keep it aimed at the man before him.

"Your leader? Seeking out little old me? I feel honored."

"Oh, save the flattery Mr. ZeroZero. Just because our leader thinks you are entertaining does not mean you will succeed. The only thing it means is that she will kill you last," a grin crossed his face. "That is, if you even win this little game we have in store for you."

The Summoner grinned back, raising a brow in a comic fashion.

He blinked his eyes mockingly, as if in disbelief.

"Oh? 'She'? Mmm…a woman?"

At this small jest, the man straightened up considerably, chest puffing outward in a small bout of pride. He gritted his teeth in irritation as his voice bounced around the rusty steel interior of their current location. Large chains hooked to anchors wavered slightly beside the two men, the long links of metal leading upwards to daylight several feet above their heads.

"Yes, a _woman_. There is nothing wrong with a woman being a leader, sexist pig. You yourself should know that."

The Summoner shrugged.

"Ah, well. I guess it's fitting for a cowardly organization like yours to be led by a female."

At that, the man spat.

"That's enough. You will not make light of us after we are through with Valoran. You will see firsthand our true power. And that" a sinister grin crossed the man's lips as he slowly began to walk to the edge of the platform. At the sudden movement, the Summoner cautiously stepped forward with him, aiming his gun intently. "is something I cannot _wait _to see."

In one deft motion, the man leaped onto one of the dangling chains a foot away from the oily platform. Just as quickly, he let loose a bullet from his pistol at a section of the chain below his feet. Sparks flew as the links broke and the chain began to propel the man upwards into a hidden exit in the ceiling.

His bellowing laughter echoed throughout the steel chamber as the Summoner shot round after round after the man, missing each shot as his target disappeared into darkness.

"It has been nice watching you _lose_, Double-O-Seven."

Glaring into the shadows, the Summoner lowered his gun as he heard the chain carrying his target clack and rattle upwards.

"On the contrary; I think this game's just begun."

At that, the Summoner dashed off the edge of the platform, jumping onto a chain, emulating the action of the man above him. The darkness is slightly scared off the by the sparks of the links being broken by his bullet before the Summoner feels his body being hurriedly dragged vertically by an unknown force.

Unbeknownst to the Summoner was that the chains beneath the private docking bay anchored down large helium blimps docking at the airport for short periods of time. Once the chain links had been broken, the blimps had nowhere to go but up (much to their owner's dismay).

The Summoner's eyes remained skyward as he gripped onto the rusty chain for dear life, his petit handgun still grasped in one hand. His eyes began to squint as light started to stream through the opening the chain rattled through. Then all at once he is forced to shut his eyes tight, the warm air of Zaun once again enveloping him. Instantly letting go of the chain, the Summoner landed atop a steel platform hiding beneath the shade of large helium blimps, one of the aircraft already drifting away into the sky as a result of his stunt.

But as his eyes dart around to search for his target, he jumps back as sparks fly from an inch before his feet, a bullet nearly grazing his hair. Following the shot, the Summoner's eyes are met with his target still grasping onto the chain, shooting round after round from his piston pistol. Strangely, instead of floating up into the air, the man and the chain he clung to remained hovering in the same spot, allowing him to let loose his rounds of ammunition at the Summoner without any hindrance.

Then, as his clothing flapped and his hair began to ruffle with an intense artificial wind, the Summoner knew why; instead of being hooked with a blimp, his target's chain was connected to a twin-propeller two passenger Pelican hovercopter, a rune-powered aircraft commonly used in air assaults by Noxus during the Rune Wars. Sacrificing durability and strength for speed and agility, the combat copter was deadly in the right hands, especially since it was equipped with a deadly M61 Vulcan rotary cannon protruding from its front cockpit…

…which at the moment was aimed straight at the Summoner's chest.

Eyes widening to the size of saucers, the Summoner instantly turned round and began to run faster than he had ever run before. Before his body could completely swivel around, his pupils reflected the fire beginning to spout from the mouth of the loud, rattling metal-spewing rotary cannon.

Sparks flew millimeters from his feet as the rotary cannon continued its barrage, barely missing the Summoner's running legs. Arms pumping furiously, the only thing occupying his mind is to run as fast as he could. His ears warn him of the closing distance between his body and the white-hot stream of incessant metal being spouted from the Pelican's mouth.

Desperate, and seeing no other option, the Summoner abruptly turned to his right and jumped, unknowing whether or not there would be a safe landing.

* * *

The Zaunite businessman sighed contently as he slowly navigated his newly renovated Jetstream ARV. Fitted with twin rune-encrusted jet propulsion propellers, the Jetstream perfectly suited the middle-aged man's holiday needs. Ever since the bombings in Zaun, the balding office worker had been filing paperwork at his insurance firm at a much more rapid pace; people were worried out of their wits. It seemed the work would never stop as the papers in his office began to stack above his head. Finally, after several weeks, he finally decided to use his hard-earned week of past holidays not spent.

The man planned to fly to the islands of Ionia with his new recreational vehicle; he had ordered the new expensive engine system to be installed into the Jetstream to allow him optimum speed on long-distance journeys, the flight over the sea to Ionia in mind. He had even equipped it with the latest in personal aircraft defensive systems ( just in case some rogue air pirates decided to provoke him).

The businessman grinned widely as he began to maneuver the Jetstream to exit the private docking bay. It was finally time for solitary peace and quiet, something that had eluded him for much too long. The sound of honking horns and the electrical whizzing of various airborne vehicles leaked its way into his cabin as he started to enter the main airway; his exit out of this tedious life into the relaxed week on the sandy white shores of Ionia.

Unlike his fellow Zaunites, the businessman didn't possess the hatred against the island neighbors of Ionia; he didn't see anything of the Ionians to hate them for. After all, as a result of Zaun's dislike of the 'peaceniks', Ionia's closest beaches were devoid of any tourists, empty for the businessman's pleasure.

Stopping at a red light, the man felt that nothing could stop him. What could go possibly wrong? A new engine, defensive systems, and not to mention that pricy paint job. Oh, he definitely splurged this time, but for good cause. It just didn't seem anything could get in the way between him and his perfect, relaxing time on that beach across the sea, with his ARV parked directly behind the retractable lawn chair he had bought at the Dick's outdoorsman outlet for half price with a scantily-clad Ionian woman gently rubbing his shoulders as the sound of the tide's gently lapping waves softly sing him a lulla-

_THUD. _The distant echo of a sound that resembled a typewriter. _CRASH!_

The man screamed as shards of glass pelted his head, causing him to curl up defensively in his seat. Sitting upwards cautiously, his eyes widen at the sight of a tousled man standing near his Jetstream's passenger door, the large plexiglass window nothing but a pile of shards at this man's feet.

"Wha-What are yo-"

"Sorry old chap, not much time to explain," the Summoner quickly said, grabbing the shivering businessman by the shoulders to throw him onto the passenger's seat behind the driver's wheel.

Quickly positioning himself, the Summoner took a few seconds to find his bearings with the controls of the ARV. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, along with the enraged voice of the poor man he had just thrown into the passenger's seat.

"Hey! Just what do you think you're doing? _YOU JUST BROKE ONE OF MY PLEXIGLASS WINDOWS._"

The Summoner paid no mind to him, continuing to flip switches and test out pedals beneath his feet.

"Sorry sir, but there isn't much time-"

"Time for what, you bastard? Do you know how much that window cost me? And who do you think you are, just coming in here and hijacking my Jetstream?"

"I'm uh….I'm a member of the Valoran ARV Self-Defense Committee," the Summoner absentmindedly lied; still engrossed in learning the ship's controls before his enemies' Pelican would make its appearance once more. "I was sent to examine your ship's newly installed," the Summoner prayed that his wild guess would be correct "defensive systems."

At this, the middle-aged businessman removed his hand from the Summoner's shoulder, surprisingly accepting his fib.

"Oh. But why did you burst in through my window? There wasn't any need for that was there?"

"Ah, but you see sir, you must blame your ship's defense systems for that," the Summoner secretly grinned, growing amused by his explanations. "If you had sufficient programming, I wouldn't even have made it to your roof."

The businessman was now seated beside the Summoner in the passenger's seat, intently nodding his head.

"Right, right. But what are you doing now at the controls?"

"I'm….checking your recreational vehicle's auxiliary propulsion system for deficiencies in its mana-fueled rune railing index," once again the Summoner quietly prayed his gibberish could convince the ship's owner.

To his great surprise, the man seated beside him merely nodded his head again, pretending to understand.

"Ah…right, right."

Silence ensues, the Pelican still nowhere to be seen.

"Well, everything's in order. Now the last thing I need to check is your ship's defensive system controls. Would you mind pointing out which panel it is located in, sir?"

"Right. It's underneath the fuel gage; you just push that little red button and-"

Suddenly the sound of loud rattling is hard in the ship's cabin, sparks showering down the windshield. The Pelican had rounded around the corner like a cat stalking its dinner, the front-mounted rotary canon instantly spitting out its fiery hot rounds.

The businessman yelled out in surprise as the Summoner pulled back on the controls, forcing the somewhat bulky ship to point its nose upwards. The jet propulsion propellers pushed the Jetstream, propelling the ship and its two passengers to safety as its hull deflects the Pelican's gunfire with a shower of sparks.

The Summoner grinned as he maneuvered the Jetstream through the docking bay, barely scathing with passing airships. He could hear the agile Pelican following suit, pangs of metal ringing throughout the cabin as his pursuers continued firing their rotary canon with the ARV in their sights.

"I suggest you strap yourself in old chap," the Summoner addressed the pale-faced businessman, who by now was clutching to his passenger seat for dear life, his chest heaving for air as a cold sweat trickled down his face. The Summoner chuckled, his eyes still focusing with maneuvering the ship through the rusty steel jungle.

"I am about to commence a test of your ship's maneuvering capability in a cramped urban setting."

The Summoner could hear the fumbled clicking of a seatbelt.

"Damn it all, I knew I shouldn't have installed those godsdamned guns."

* * *

_I sincerely apologize for the elongated chase sequence, but this is just too fun for me to stop. Don't worry, a lemon will come soon. Patience is a virtue. Be sure to review and fave please. This is my first time writing so much action so I don't know if it's decent enough if I only hear from a few people._

_Excelsior!_


	4. Sky Fall

_RATATATATA- PTING! PTING! PTING!_

The Pelican continued to its target with constant rounds from its rotary cannon, long, yellow strings of ammunition curving through the air from the mouth of the Vulcan to kiss the tail-end of the Jetstream.

Luckily for the Summoner and his involuntary passenger, the Jetstream's hull was comprised of thick, Zaunite-produced steel of the highest quality (which was a steal, considering the whole ARV was only purchased for fifteen thousand Valoranite gold).

The Summoner winced, his eardrums throbbing at the white-knuckled businessman's shrills screams assaulting his hearing. A high-pitched oscillating hum resounded through the cabin, the sound originating from the twin rune-encrusted jet propulsion propellers encased within two cylinders on the side of the Jetstream. Along with this constant hum, the Summoner could hear the shrill scream of the Pelican's rotary engine, its large propellers thrusting the agile aircraft dangerously close to his tail.

The Summoner tried his best to ignore the resonating typewriter-like screams of the Vulcan rotary cannon.

In the meanwhile, the businessman seated beside the Summoner begins an endless string of profanities thrown at his direction as a result of his precarious maneuvering of the man's precious ARV.

"_Shit! Fuck you and your self-defense committee, you bullshitting son of a bi-WHAAAAAAA!_"

The Summoner shuts him up unintentionally as they both feel their innards swirl, the Jetstream revolving through the air in a full circle. Streaks of bullets flash past the front windshield as the ARV flips and revolves around the fiery rounds of ammunition. Gritting his teeth, the Summoner suddenly pulls back on the control wheel, propelling the entire ship to skyrocket upwards through a small, predicted opening within the mangled webs of Zaunite metalwork.

_WHOOOSH, VMMM- RATATATA!_

Darkness encompasses the ARV, steel walls closing in on all sides. The echo of the twin jet propulsion propellers echoed with an increased potency within the cramped quarters to join the pursuing Pelican in a chorus of mechanical screams, the sound almost overwhelmed by the unremitting whooshing of passing steelworks.

Unbeknownst to both parties, they were currently zooming through a large ventilation tower for a Zaunite drug producer, just in time for the hourly steam vent.

_VHOOOSH!_

Intricate pipework and openings within the web-like steel cave around them proceeded to vomit plumes of white steam and smoke, vapor immediately enclosing the dashing ships in a thick veil, reducing visibility to nil. The aforementioned gasses rushed into the cabin of the Jetstream, encompassing the two men in a hot, choking cloud. Both of them instinctively begin to cough, but the Summoner somehow still kept control of the ship, increasing the Jetstream to its maximum speed in order to escape the steamy trap.

All sound becomes more muffled, the Summoner's eyes forced to squint through the white as he struggled g to catch sight of the tower's exit. He couldn't use clairvoyance, not with his already-low mana supply; catching sight of the circular opening into Zaun's open air would be enough.

The rattling of the rotary canon continued to follow the Jetstream, though now the speeding bullets make less contact with its battered steel hull. Suddenly red lights began to flash in the Jetstream's cockpit, their muffled glow filling the cabin. Accompanying these flashes of red, a shrill alarm begins to sound, supplemented with a feminine electronic voice.

_BING! BING!BING! CAUTION, ENGINE STALL IMMINENT. CEASE VERTICAL FLIGHT IMMEDIATELY. BING! BING! BING! CAUTION, ENGINE STALL IMMINENT…_

Sure enough, the Summoner could feel the Jetstream's propellers beginning to sputter, their blue arcane glow spewing in a faltering fashion.

"Dammit," the Summoner muttered, still unmindful of the businessman's loud yelling.

Pressing the pedal controlling the ship's speed to its maximum capability, the Summoner's mind raced to find a solution to their current predicament. The light of the outside world crept closer and closer as the two ships began to finally exit the titanic ventilation tower, their sight still shrouded by the thick conjoined columns of hot steam.

Desperate for a lifesaver, the Summoner activated the ship's defense mechanisms, his finger pushing the red button beneath the fuel gauge. Instantaneously, a screen that had remained black suddenly lit up with a blue hue, displaying a large single-burst autolock arcane burst cannon. Simultaneously, the Summoner could feel a small jolt underneath his seat as the burst cannon rose out of its burrow within the hull of the ship.

The Summoner grinned at this new development. He was familiar with the arcane burst cannon and its specifications. Of course, he had to be; the Institute developed the technology for extra revenue. The arcane burst cannon was designed with an internal scheme that was not dissimilar to the sentry turrets situated on the Fields of Justice. Shooting out large, concentrated balls ofarcane energy, the burst cannon autolocks with the nearest hostile ship to disable and short-circuit its electronic components for a short period of time. Though the burst canon wasn't terminal in its performance, it could grant its user the perfect amount of time to escape, or dispatch its hostile target with a finishing blow.

The Summoner's eyes suddenly widened as a plan finally formulated within his brain, one that required yet another fall, but would ensure the termination of his target and the acquirement of the intel.

Yelling above the loud din, the Summoner dropped his act to the businessman, his voice barely heard over the incessant sirens and the loud hum of the engines.

"_WHERE IS YOUR SHIP'S TOWING CABLE?_"

The businessman takes a moment to respond, still frightened at the current situation. Finally he yelled back somewhat scathingly,

"_OUTSIDE, UNDERNEATH THE WINDOW THAT YOU BROKE._"

At that, the Summoner unbuckled his seat belt, allowing the Jetstream to continue its vertical progress on autopilot. Jumping out of his seat, quickly threw his hands onto the headrest of the passenger seat, his body dangling behind him. The businessman looked back into the Summoner's eyes with fear, disbelief tracing the corners of his pupils.

The Summoner grinned. At the close proximity between their two heads, the Summoner's voice needed not to be raised as he quickly enlightened his plan to the seated Zaunite before him.

"Alright old chap, the ship's all yours. Now listen carefully. When I jump out of the Jetstream, keep her steady. I've set your ship's defensive turret on autolock. Once our pursuer is visible, immediately press the firing button. Finally, the engines will stall, and it'll be a long way down before they come back online, but you have got to keep her steady. Once they come back online pull up with all you can, got it?"

"But, wait what do you-"

"There's no time damn it," the Summoner spat, the light of the outside world looming closer and closer through the gloom. "Just follow my instructions if you want to survive. Those men are coming to kill us. Understand? Now do what I've told you to do before I kill you myself."

The last comment sprung the Zaunite into action, his body clumsily repositioning itself into the driver's seat, his fingers buckling the seatbelt with nervousness. He heard a thud as the Summoner let go of his grip, landing in the back of the vertical cockpit. Then the businessman could hear a grunt and a slight ruffle of fabric. Taking a quick look back, the Zaunite's eyes widened at the absence of the man that had been driving his ARV mere seconds before. Returning his gaze to the windshield in front of him, the businessman gulped.

"Wait…did he say _jump?_"

* * *

The ventilation towered continued to spew steam and smoke from its mouth, tall columns of the white plumes spreading out to conjoin with the thick layer of pollutants hanging idly in the air above Zaun. Even with the hindrance of vision, the blue of the sky still somehow manages to make itself visible through the gloom.

_VWOO-SPUT, SPUT, SPUT- VWOOOM!_

Shooting out of the ventilation tower's opening, sunlight gleams off of the Jetstream's battered metal hull as its propellers begin to sputter and stall. The Zaunite behind the wheel gritted his teeth as his ARV does a complete rotation in the air, its vertical progress beginning to slow. He could feel his ship's twin propellers sputter, the constant speed that had been graced upon the Jetstream quickly beginning to ebb away. The alarm in the cockpit continues to scream, the ship's digital voice continuing to warn the Zaunite of the forthcoming engine stall. Then all at once, the ship's engines finally stopped completely, the propellers ceasing their rotations. The Jetstream stops in midair for the briefest second, the Zaunite's insides doing cartwheels. Then, the nose of the ARV looks towards the ground as it begins its rapid freefall towards the ground.

Gripping onto the steering wheel with all the strength he could muster, the businessman held his finger steady over the button that would shoot out a blue burst of arcane energy from his ship's burst cannon. All he had to do now was trust that the Summoner's plan would go through.

The Summoner hoped just as much, his clothes flapping in the wind as he held onto the side of the ship for dear life. In his right hand he held the clip for the ship's towing cable, a long steel wire capable of dragging along a ship just as big as the Jetstream once the clip was harnessed onto the desired aircraft.

The Summoner kept his eyes glued onto the steaming gloom of the ventilation tower, his feet inching closer and closer to the front of the ship.

He had to have perfect timing, or else this plan would fail.

And both he and the businessman knew that death would be eagerly waiting for them if the plan didn't go through.

* * *

_VHMMMM-WHOOSH!_

The Pelican shot out of the ventilation tower, its passengers' eyes squinting at the sudden onslaught of daylight. Unlike the Jetstream, the Pelican had no threat to have its engines stall; its twin propellers were large in their circumference and were capable of swiveling in 360 degrees, enabling the ship to remain vertical progress at a steady rate dissimilar to a helicopter.

Finger pressing against the trigger of the Pelican's Vulcan rotary cannon, the pilot of the agile aircraft was more than ready to let loose more rounds of ammunition once their target made his appearance.

But suddenly, once the steam of the ventilation tower had cleared out, a blue churning ball of light flew at their faces. Before the pilot could dodge the sphere of arcane energy, it made contact with the ship, a static electric crackle resounding through the cockpit. All at once, sirens and alarms begin to shrilly scream, every available piece of machinery ceasing their ministrations. The pilot frantically flips switches, pushes buttons, pulls levers, trying anything he could to get the ship's engines back online.

It was no use.

The men's eyes are suddenly diverted to the left of the ship, where they catch sight of the Jetstream plummeting past them to the ground below. Though their ship's engines had been disabled, their propellers still desperately spun on reserve energy, keeping them afloat above the ventilation tower with their ship paralyzed from doing anything other than hover.

Amidst the confusion, the men didn't see the figure jump off the side of the Jetstream, landing atop the Pelican.

* * *

The Summoner went to work hastily, crouching cautiously as his hands latched the Jetstream's towing cable to the closest steel loophole.

_ZZZIIIIIIIIIP!_

The steel cable continued to grind against the side of the Pelican, galvanizing the Summoner hasten his movements; the towing cable was running out of length.

_KA-CHACK!_

The Summoner let loose a sigh of relief as he removed his hands from the fastened towing cable. But just as soon as the relief flooded his system, it quickly fled as a new concern made itself clear to him; where was he going to hang on to? In his mind's eye he could see the Jetstream plummeting several yards below the Pelican, its towing line beginning to stretch to its maximum length…

_P-TWANG!_

Instantly the line went taut, the Summoner now frantic; the roof of the Pelican was surprisingly scarce of bars or any other means for his hands to find a firm grip. Seeing no other option, the Summoner gripped onto the towing line itself, doing so a millisecond before the Pelican suddenly fell out of its position, its metal body dragged through the air by the plummeting Jetstream.

The men inside the Pelican look at each other helplessly as their disabled ship is violently tugged out of its comfortable hovering position above the ventilation tower. They hold onto their seats tightly, the Jetstream's mighty weight pulling them down through the air as an anchor would tow along a corpse thrown into the ocean.

Outside the comfort of the ship, the Summoner's body flails about in the air, his hair whipping in the intense wind of the freefall.

_WHOOOM._

The ventilation tower whooshes past the two plummeting airships, its steel webwork nothing but a long splotch of brown and grey as the Jetstream continues to fall towards the ground, its engines still offline.

Tears begin to roll out of the Summoner's eyes as the rushing air dries out his eyes in a matter of seconds. His grip on the steel cable remains steady; a difficult task considering his entire weight is being dragged along behind him with only his fingers' grip to keep him attached to his target's ship.

Still the Summoner strained his vision to keep track of the Jetstream's progress, its propellers beginning to sputter to life, short trails of blue spluttering out from their cylinders erratically.

_Come on, old chap…pull up….there isn't much air left._

A high-pitched wheezing rings in the Summoner's ears as the two ships in front of his body continue to plummet towards the ground, gravity pulling them to increase their velocity. Taking a cursory glance at his watch, the Summoner takes note of his mana supply, a crucial element of his plan that he didn't check before. Much to his relief, the blue bar fortunately had just enough for his intentions.

The two ships continued to rush towards the ground at a dangerous pace, the tall spires of short skyscrapers already threatening to impale the aircraft into a fiery doom. If the Jetstream didn't pull up soon, this fate would soon come into fruition.

Suddenly the Summoner's eyes are met with two constant blue streams trailing behind the Jetstream.

The engines were online.

Just as soon as this occurs, the ARV gives off a high-pitched hum as it smoothly curves upward, its nose slowly reverting its course to a horizontal line. Eyes widening at this development, the Summoner braced himself for the inevitable, the taut towing cable continuing to drag along the disabled Pelican through the air.

Consuming the remainder of his mana supply, with a bright yellow flash of arcane light, the Summoner erects a globular barrier of energy around his body just as the Pelican violently crashes through layers of rusty steelwork. Sparks fly through the air as the ship continued to plummet until finally stopping at an abandoned factory floor.

The Jetstream continued to drag the lightweight aircraft through steel pillars and architecture, battering the hull of the craft with each and every contact. A trail of sparks flew behind the dragged ship as it proceeded to burst through tangled steelwork and masonry. The Summoner clung tightly onto a nearby rung atop the Pelican, struggling to unclip the Jetstream's towing cable from the Pelican's roof. If he didn't do so soon, he knew that he would perish alongside the passengers of the ship. The golden, translucent barrier continued to shield the Summoner from the onslaught of rusty steel that the Pelican was being dragged through, but soon the shield began to weaken, the Summoner's mana supply diminishing by the second.

_Unhook dammit. Unhook!_

His right hand desperately tried to unclasp the towing line from the Pelican, but to no avail; it was impossible to accomplish with only one hand. Seeing no other alternative, the Summoner released his grasp from the Pelican's roof and with one deft motion unclipped the steel clip from the aircraft's roof.

_TWANG!_

Instantaneously the steel cable flew away to join the Jetstream's flight. Because of his released grasp, the Summoner flew off the roof of the Pelican, his body rolling on the steel ground as the barrier around him spluttered out to nothing but air.

_VSSHHHHHHHH!_

The Pelican screeched to a halt a few meters away. By now the airship is a battered chunk of steel, its twin propellers ripped off its hull as wings to a bird. Its shape is unrecognizable; the only evidence that it was a pilotable ship is the two-passenger cockpit, which still remained intact. The dark green paint that had covered its body during its initial flight is completely scathed off, the silver steel skin of its frame reflecting dimly in the sunlight. Smoke begins to drift through the ship's miniscule crevices as the Pelican sighed its last breath.

Emulating the Pelican's progress, the Summoner rolled to a stop, his body lying on the ground to face the sky. His chest heaves for air as the physical punishment finally ceased. He lay in this manner for several minutes, the smoking remains of the Pelican continuing to smolder a few feet to his right.

Slowly getting to his feet, he groaned at the various bruises and small cuts his body had received during the length of his chase. Despite all of the physical pain, the Summoner grinned as his eyes are met with the Pelican and its cockpit.

His mission was almost complete. All that he needed now was the intel.

Limping toward the Pelican, the Summoner drew his Walther PPK; he didn't want to take any chances.

The cockpit of the Pelican consisted of two seats, with one reserved for the pilot. A hard, sturdy bullet-proof and airtight windshield was the only barrier that protected the passengers from the elements. Luckily for the Summoner, the large sheet of indestructible glass swiveled open for him with a strong tug of his arms.

As the cockpit swiveled open, he pocketed his handgun at the sight of the two men within the Pelican limp and unconscious, a trickle of blood drizzling out of the pilot's mouth onto his shirt. Light caught on the silver suitcase still grasped in one of the men's hands, much to the Summoner's relief. Seeing that the pilot sat directly in his way, the Summoner dragged the corpse out of its seat and tossed it to the steel ground. The body fell on its face with a loud _whump_. Before he could enter the felled ship, the Summoner's gaze suddenly turned skyward to the top of the ventilation tower.

The tower reached at least forty stories. Not taking into account the height the two ships had reached above the structure, the Summoner had just survived a four hundred foot plummet to one of Zaun's many levels.

He shook his head slightly before glancing at the body lying at his feet.

"Zaun is just gorgeous in the fall, isn't it?"

* * *

At a repair shop, the Zaunite businessman sat on a stool, watching his ARV being hoisted up by hydraulics. Luckily for him, the repair shop was famed for its same-day repairs, a result of its advanced robotic technology.

Shaking his head, the businessman sighed.

"Thank gods the insurance covers hijackings."

* * *

_*phew* The chase scene is finally over. Well, I don't want to spoil anything, but something you guys are going to enjoy is coming after the next chapter._

_:3_

_I'll give you three guesses what._


	5. Recollections, Reiterations, Reflections

The Summoner proceeded to enter the cockpit, one leg remaining outside. He took a moment to glance at his target's face, an action that was driven more by impulse than anything else. Then without another moment's hesitation, the Summoner began to pry the fingers off of the suitcase's handle. The digits were still surprisingly warm, but it didn't matter.

Just as the Summoner pried the last finger off the steel grip, the hand suddenly closed in on itself, grasping onto the suitcase with a tighter grip than before.

Looking upwards in shock, the Summoner's gaze was met with the man's face, a sinister grin splayed across his visage.

"Surprise."

Before the Summoner could react, the man deftly lifted the heavy suitcase and swung it against his outstretched leg. Yelling out in pain, the Summoner collapsed into the pilot's seat. Struggling to a sitting position, his progress is stopped as his target pounced on his lap. He struggled, trying to escape the man's pinning weight to no avail. His arms attempted to push the man off his torso, his face turning red from the energy exerted in this desperate effort.

But it was no use. The man continued to smile down at the Summoner as a mischievous fox would grin at its captured prey.

Panting, the Summoner looked up at the man helplessly, his arms limp at his sides. There was no possible way he could move under the man's weight. His target proceeded to extract the piston pistol from the back of his trousers, making a show of loading the magazine into the pistol and pointing it at the Summoner's face. The Summoner's eyes cross to meet the mouth of the gun at the bridge of his nose.

"And again…it's been fun watching you lose."

The Summoner turned his gaze at the man's face, glaring at him defiantly with the ever-present grin on his face.

"Please. The pleasure is all mine."

The man began to laugh, his right thumb pushing down on the pistol's hammer.

The Summoner closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate.

Suddenly, the man's laughter is interrupted with a violent croak.

Opening his eyes, the Summoner felt the steely tip of the pistol run along the bridge of his nose before separating the contact with his skin. Furrowing his brow in bemusement, his gaze turned to his assailant's face.

The man's eyes were wide as saucers, his pupils looking down at the Summoner in a lost daze. His mouth was agape, and after a few moments the man coughed up a ball of blood, the crimson substance oozing down his chin.

With that, he crumpled atop the Summoner, dead.

The Summoner's breath is quickly snatched from his lungs as the man's full weight pinioned him down onto the seat. But concern quickly fled when his eyes caught sight of a crescent-shaped blade lodged into the back of his target's neck. Then, the Summoner's gaze turned to look over the corpse's shoulder to be met with a tall figure walking toward his direction.

His eyes squinted at this new sight, his body abandoning its attempts to escape the weight trapping him in the cockpit.

The figure walking toward the Pelican was female, evident by the distinct curves running along her body. Black covered the woman from head to toe, save for the creamy skin exposed at her arms and the top-half of her face. She was masked, emphasizing the emerald green eyes that burned beneath a silver-played headband. Long, silky white hair flowed behind her, its length reaching past her waist. At her sides, light glinted off two twin-bladed instruments, long, black handles leading to their curved tips. With every step she took, her hips delicately swayed from side to side, feminine charm rolling off of her body in waves despite her dark, battle-ready attire. Several shuriken and other deadly instruments were strapped around her thighs, light steel armoring her vulnerable body parts.

Then, the Summoner blinked. The second after his eyelids opened again, the woman was now crouching at the nose of the Pelican, her eyes glaring into his own. The Summoner grinned, his gaze softening.

"Well, well. I suppose I am now in your debt."

The woman remained silent, her eyes fixated with his as she remained in a crouching position less than a foot above him. The corpse that was crumpled in the Summoner's lap remained to act as a barrier between the two.

Maybe this was her intention.

Silence ensues, but the Summoner held his suave grin.

As his eyes returned her hard stare, his mind registered recognition at her Ionian eyes, their distinct shape similar to the eyes embedded into his own visage.

"Not one for talking, are you? Well, I do suppose actions speak louder than words."

"You can turn off your charm around me," the woman finally said, her tone serious and cold. "I'm immune."

"So it seems."

Her glare maintained its intensity.

"This isn't anything personal. It's my job."

"Oh? And what job is that?"

Silence.

Her hand suddenly grasped the blade embedded into the man's neck. She finally spoke.

"If I told you-" she dislodged the blade with flawless execution, blood spurting out of the wound in a small red geyser- "I would have to kill you."

The Summoner chuckled as his eyes followed her fingers pocket the bloodied shuriken carefully inside a belt.

"That's supposed to be _my _line."

The Summoner paused briefly, his eyes roaming along the woman's well-defined figure. He could feel her eyes burn into the top of his skull.

"You must be some kind of mercenary, I take it."

The woman arose from her crouch, clenching her fists delicately.

"You will be surprised to discover that what I am is closer to home."

With that, the woman leapt above the Summoner's head, disappearing from his sight. He could hear her running footfalls echo through the dark of the mangled steel jungle.

"Could have at least given me a name," the Summoner muttered.

Curiosity began to flood his psyche after the woman's departure, coupled with an onslaught of questions.

But even this was undermined by the importance of his mission completion; he could always do his research at a later time.

Gathering all of his strength, the Summoner shoved his target's corpse off his body, his eyes following it as it rolled off the front of the Pelican. He gave a satisfied sigh once he heard it crumple onto the ground with a loud thud.

Then, the Summoner eagerly grabbed the silver suitcase nestled into the seat beside him. Settling the intel onto his lap, he took a deep breath. All the work and physical exertion that had been put forth that day was all spent for this.

His thumbs grasping the metal latches of the case, the Summoner quickly flipped them open.

He opened the case with a slow urgency, the small fear of nothing being inside tugging at his expectations.

The Summoner released a breath he didn't know he had been holding when his eyes beheld the sought-after black box nestled within a foam mold. The sluggishness of his actions immediately fled, his fingers quickly grasping the wooden box.

He rotated it around his fingers for a few moments, thumb rubbing over the intricate engravings running along its surface. A golden latch kept the lid shut. With a flick of his thumb, the Summoner opened the box, its small hinges creaking softly.

A parchment of paper rose up from its knees, dark, bold letters glaring at him from their inscribed positions.

The Summoner took the small three-fold letter, delicately opening it with his fingers. His eyes move swiftly as they read the words written on it:

_You have won a small victory._

_A step that brings you nearer._

_But lies are what you see_

_in a game of smoke and mirrors._

_Within a Stem I will wait_

_Until we meet once more._

_I know you won't be late_

_for pleasure lies in store._

Beneath the letter, a black rose is embossed onto the paper. During the course of his brief reading, the Summoner's expression had changed, phasing through several emotions until finally settling on realization.

As if on cue, the Summoner's earpiece began to buzz to life.

"Double-o-Seven?"

M spoke cautiously, her voice almost a whisper. Though it was definitely not apparent to the subordinates standing around her desk, the elderly woman was worried.

Dreadfully, sincerely worried.

She always lapsed into this mental state whenever she sent her best, and favorite, agent out on field assignments. Though she knew she had to stay professional, M couldn't restrain her maternal instincts from slightly revealing itself in her psyche.

After all, 007 was the only son she had, adopted or not.

Silence on the comlink seemed to extend its length, static mocking M's concealed worry.

"Intel acquired ma'am. Two casualties and one downed aircraft. Requesting immediate extraction and medical aid," the Summoner finally responded, a tracking beacon within his watch causing a blue light to flicker.

M had to stifle a sigh of relief. In its place she cleared her throat, raising a closed fist close to her mouth.

"Request granted, Double-O-Seven," she snapped her fingers in the air, silently ordering subordinates to hurriedly order their subordinates, triggering a chain reaction that resounded through the entire command chamber. The legion of personnel gradually began to buzz to activity around her, fingers behind kiosks typing faster, decibels of voices escalating in intensity as orders were barked, small insults thrown.

Amidst this instant cacophony of activity, M flicked a switch, disconnecting her comline to the main input line, creating a private comlink to her and the Summoner.

Now, across the hundreds of miles that lay between them, M could talk to the Summoner alone.

On the other end, the Summoner waited for the ending statement, the final word from a teacher for dismissal. This triggered something within his psyche, hardening his heart. Yes, though M was his superior and surrogate mother, their relationship had taken a wrong turn once he had decided to live without her protection; the only contact they had now was during work at LSMI6. Her voice frazzled through the comlink after a small bout of silence.

"_Are you hurt?_"

The Summoner grunted.

"Merely a scratch, ma'am."

M waited for him to say more, something she always did but never gained anything from.

The elongated hush finally prompted her to cut the conversation short, much to the Summoner's indifference.

"_Good work, Double-O-Seven. I expect your mission report to be as explanatory as to be expected_."

"Will do, ma'am."

Before the Summoner could remove his earpiece, M's fuzzy voice made him stop.

"_One more thing_."

"Yes?"

"…_when are you going to tell your spouse?_"

The sudden question struck him as a wild beast encountered in the wild. Guilt poked at his heart.

Secrets began to churn within their vaults, making their presence all the more vivid.

Before this could continue, the Summoner grunted, shaking his head of these petty emotions before they worsened.

"Soon."

With that, the Summoner removed the earpiece, ending the verbal connection to headquarters.

He heaved a sigh, his body relaxing in the surprisingly soft seat of the open cockpit. His eyes drifted back to the letter in his fingers, reading the poem repeatedly within his mind.

The petit metal case within his blazer's inner pocket began to call for him, middle and index fingers beginning to itch for the familiar papery texture of a hot gold-banded cigarette.

In no time at all the Summoner had already set aside the intel, the steel suitcase seated beside him safely. One of his favorite cigarettes was already lodged between his middle and index fingers, his trusty Ronson oxidized lighter poised at its head.

Flick.

A small flame met the cigarette's tip, igniting the flammable treat with a minute crackle. Setting the cigarette between his lips, the Summoner pocketed his lighter and took his first drag of heat. Instantly his nerves calmed as the flavored smoke flooded his lungs. He tilted his head back in relaxation, letting out the breath with calmed precision. The smoke drifted outward from his mouth and nostrils to tumble upward in a curling fashion.

The Summoner's mind is a loud unorchestrated mess of newly developed information, questions and exhaustion. Each inhale of smoke seemed to keep his senses from getting mangled into a cluster of burnt-out circuitry.

He took another inhale.

Who was that woman?

_Exhale._

What was she doing here? How was she a part of this?

_Inhale._

What about the letter?

_Exhale._

A game? The Black Rose? The Deceiver.

_Inhale._

When was he going to tell Sona?

_Exhale._

His future wife. The love of his life?

_Inhale._

Should he resign? What was the point? Why?

_Exhale. _

Finally the Summoner shut his eyes, mind clearing itself of all obsolete thoughts. Though the current mission was accomplished, he knew that the near future had much work left in store. His eyes glanced over to the shut briefcase, the words written on its contents instantly reemerging in his psyche.

The Summoner decided to tilt his head back again, cigarette in his hand continuing to smolder. His gaze followed the twirling, dancing wisps of smoke produced from his lips as they slowly ascended before receding away into the sky.

Despite it all, the Summoner found Zaun to be quite peaceful during this particular time of day. The sun had crossed the threshold of noon, passing through the period of the late afternoon, its piercing rays already orange and beginning to dim. The dilapidated steelworks of towering skyscrapers and unfinished construction sites shone beautifully amidst the smog and arcane pollution, tidbits of light sprinkled amongst every surface capable of reflection.

In the cockpit of the Pelican, the scene was comforting and tranquil. Even the two corpses that lay outside on the steel ground seemed to be comforted by the serenity of the atmosphere.

The Summoner's brows rose quite suddenly as one name spontaneously burst amidst the sea of his thoughts, pushing aside all other concerns that he might have had. Another exhale of smoke clouded his view of a particularly burnished skyscraper.

The name in his mind continued to make its presence known, memories and recollections of past experiences beginning to also make their ascent.

The edges of his teeth slightly grinded against each other, as if attempting to restrain the name that bulged at his throat like an overgrown Adam's apple. Another inhale, another exhale.

Then, the Summoner shook his head slowly, a dark grin crossing his face.

"After this whole time…" the Summoner extracted another cigarette, lighting it absentmindedly as he kept his gaze glued to the smoke that continued to waver above his head. "…you've finally decided to make an appearance…"

A pause.

A short period to cycle through a myriad of revelations and emotions ensued, a large inhale of smoke cascading down his throat. The name shot out from his lips, riding alongside the concentrated bout of smoke exhaled from his lungs.

"…LeBlanc."

As if on cue, the ground rumbled. The Summoner's eyes followed the burnished skyscraper as it propelled itself through the air on a pillar of white, the dim, orange sunlight reflecting off of its shining exterior. Water cascaded from its bottom, the artificial waterfall barely visible amidst the rocket's plumes of steam. The Summoner's vision shook, the smoke that had been drifting off tranquilly suddenly overpowered as a large wall of steam advanced towards the Summoner from the vertically-advancing spacecraft. In a matter of seconds the bright orange hues of rusted metal is engulfed in a thick veil of smoke, effectively interrupting the moment of solace.

The Summoner continued to casually smoke his cigarette, unmindful of his vision's blockage from the cloud of rocket exhaust. Several minutes later, the veil of rocket exhaust slowly drifted away. With the Summoner's vision returned, the burnished skyscraper had disappeared.

Inhale.

Sunlight continued to shine, the sky gradually combusting into an inferno of crimson reds, the sun beginning to dip into the Conqueror's Sea.

Exhale.

Zaun continued to have its surprises.

* * *

A few days pass.

The extraction team had done their usual work; drop in, clean up, leave.

Efficient, clean and unnoticed.

In the meanwhile, M had ordered that the Summoner stay in a secure location, which at the current time was the Leningrand Hotel, a luxurious gem in the center of the city-state accommodating only the richest and most influential figures visiting from across Valoran.

The Summoner sat at the edge of his bed in a bathrobe, a cigarette in one hand, a half-filled glass of deep red wine in the other. Smoke snaked its way from his cigarette to make contact with the ceiling as it smoldered slowly. He took another sip of the wine after swirling the concoction absentmindedly, eyes cold and fogged.

Inactivity for the past few days was beneficial (though the dullness and boredom that nagged at his mind told him otherwise). By now his body was physically restored; the cuts and bruises sustained from the chase through Zaun's interior healed. Lethargy had invaded the small one-bed hotel room, and the Summoner was longing for a change of scheme. If only M would send orders sooner.

He took another drag from the cigarette, its tip lighting up with the inhale. Then , the Summoner arose, stubbing out the cigarette on a nearby ashtray, simultaneously finishing off the remnants of his drink. Setting aside the empty glass next to the ashtray, he walked over slowly to the windows. Cold encompassed his body, his skin naked save for white bathrobe.

He stood with his arms crossed, eyes looking out the windows. His room lay near the top floor, granting him a panoramic view of the smoggy city-state below, the tall white spires of Piltover peeking slightly over the horizon. The setting sun illuminated the surface of the nearby strait with fiery orange, distinct ripples of cresting waves obscured by the permanent veil of smog. Tall spires of skyscrapers glinted the last rays of the sun. Airships zoomed and maneuvered their way within the dark valleys of steel, small headlights beginning to flicker to life as darkness called for light.

The Summoner's eyes surveyed this scene with a calm adamancy until finally the sun completely submersed itself into the Conqueror's Sea, diamonds jutting out from the newly unveiled obsidian sky. Then, one by one, small lights began to glimmer; small dots of contrasting brightness shining out from the darkness. Soon the entire city-state is aglow with light.

A sudden series of knocks jarred the Summoner from his observation of the city.

Apprehension instantly gripped him as he walked towards the door, the knocks continuing to escalate in volume. Instinctively, his hand gripped the Walther PPK he had placed on a table beside the entrance to the hotel room.

"Who is it?" he asked gruffly.

"Room service…" a feminine voice replied. Despite being muffled by the door, its sensuous tone could still be acknowledged.

The Summoner's defenses were torn down in an instant.

Recognition instantly gripped his psyche, a small sort of grin crossing his face. Still, he kept the gun gripped in his hand.

Cautiously, he opened the door a crack, keeping his gun-wielding hand concealed behind the door.

Light from the hallway met his vision, along with a most-welcome sight. The wary grin on his face instantly widened, his handgun quickly placed on a table within arm's reach.

"Well, well…I don't recall ordering dessert."

* * *

_Who could it be? Tune in next week to find out. _

_(In the meanwhile...reviews?)_

_Excelsior!_


	6. Friend with Benefits

The woman in the hallway returned the smile, her golden eyes giving him their usual sultry glare.

"Hello to you too, Summoner," Ahri said, her voice playful and mischievous.

The Summoner's eyes looked her over with the knowledge that she wouldn't pay any mind.

Ahri was dressed in somewhat modest clothing; a long, brown overcoat reached to her knees, keeping all of her skin covered save for the bottom of her legs. The tails that were usually splayed out behind her were tucked tightly within her constraining jacket, their tips curled slightly upwards to prevent them from being dragged along the ground. The only other notable piece of attire she wore was the pair of black heels.

"If you don't mind hun," she said, interrupting the Summoner's observations with a look of amusement. "I'd like to come in."

"Oh! Of course, of course."

The Summoner hurriedly opened the door, his gaze glued with hers as she walked inside his room with her signature strut.

Ahri turned around to allow their eyes to maintain their contact. The Summoner absentmindedly closed the hotel room door.

_Click!_

And locked it.

"So…for what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ahri merely handed her playful sneer, fingers slowly unbuttoning the overcoat that the Summoner assumed covered her usual office garb.

Though he asked the woman the reason for her sudden arrival, he already knew that she was sent by M to retrieve him.

Despite her free, playful nature, the nine-tailed fox was employed by LSMI6 as M's secretary. Actually, when one would look back at her history, her nature was the reason why she was employed to such a tedious, restrictive position.

During her initiation into the Institute of War, Ahri's rambunctious antics had become disruptive to order within the League. The Institute tried to restrain her, even sending her off to Ionia for rehabilitation. But even after receiving training and guidance from the Kinkou, her spirit remained loose and unconfined.

Catching wind of the League's minor predicament, LSMI6 finally stepped in to resolve the matter with their skilled tactics. Though at first, the solution seemed obsolete, almost ridiculous, the proposal of hiring Ahri as a secretary and field messenger for the underground organization proved to be the best move for all sides; during her work in the "office" between matches, she could be restrained (at least somewhat), her rowdy activities halted, and to satisfy her free-roaming spirit, when sent into the field as a messenger, she had extra time for personal activities after her messages were delivered.

The Summoner and Ahri were well-acquainted. But strangely enough, the two had not met because of their occupations (or technically, side-occupations).

In fact, they had met before Ahri had even been sent to rehabilitation in Ionia.

Ahri finally slipped the last button of her overcoat through its respective hole, the brown fabric proceeding to slip over her shoulders, revealing the previously hidden attire. Maintaining her playful gaze with the Summoner, who was standing with his hands stuffed inside his bathrobe's pockets (somewhat close to his assets…), she allowed the coat to slip off her shoulders, the heavy fabric revealing her hidden curves with intent slowness.

The Summoner raised his eyebrows approvingly when the coat finally came to a rest at her wrists, prompting the fox to throw the overcoat aside onto a coatrack. Her essence orb immediately leaped out from its hiding at the same time her nine tails fanned out with a flourish. As expected, Ahri wore standard, headquarters office attire. Her flowing midnight hair seemed to glow with an elegant ambiance, the long silky strands cascading behind her head in straight, perfect lines.

Given the large amount of nonactivity during her "work" in the office of M, it was no surprise how meticulously the fox groomed herself.

The Summoner's eyes wandered across her curvaceous form, a white, short-sleeved blouse accentuating top half of her body, the top three buttons undone to allow a generous amount of a lacy bra to be visible, as well as the succulent uppermost arcs of her breasts straining themselves to burst from their tight confines. The black-hued lingerie matched the pleated short skirt that was girded below her hips, its bottom ending several inches above her kneecaps. The rest of her legs were covered in black pantyhose stockings, only the area between the top hem of the stockings and the end of the skirt leaving her legs bare. Her thigh-highs clutched onto her silky legs tightly, much to the Summoner's consent. Her feet were housed within a pair of black, stiletto heels.

By the time the Summoner looked up again to meet her eyes, arousal had already begun to seep into fog his mental processes.

Ahri acknowledged the Summoner's brief inspection with a knowing grin, one of the ears atop her head twitching in amusement.

Seeing that the Summoner was satisfied with his observations, she turned around slowly with her head slightly tilted in his direction. She raised a hand to begin twirling several strands of her hair around a finger. Breaking eye contact from the Summoner, she slowly strutted to the window, silently indicating him to follow.

"We met here for the first time, didn't we?" Ahri asked, completely disregarding the Summoner's previous inquiry.

He grinned as he came to a stop beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. He felt Ahri's eyes look up at his face, but his gaze remained upon the Zaunite activity outside the soundproof windows of his room.

"Formally, yes. I believe it was in the main Zaunite airport, on a-"

"Zeppelin docking bay," she finished. "The Axiom, wasn't it?"

The Summoner finally turned his gaze toward the woman beside him, only to find that she had fixed her gaze outside.

"Astute memory."

"I know."

"Even so, my question still stands."

"My purpose for being here?"

Ahri turned her eyes slightly to meet the Summoner's. A smirk was curved across her lips.

The Summoner smirked back.

"You certainly couldn't have come here on leave."

The fox turned her gaze away again, another ear twitching. She loved playing with him.

"Of course," she replied.

"So?"

Silence ensued before Ahri finally responded seriously. She knew oblique games couldn't drag on for too long. She turned her body to completely face the Summoner, her golden eyes peering up at his with the innocent quality that he could never resist. A light blue illuminated each whiskered cheek of her face periodically as a result of her essence orb being thrown about from side to side atop her tails.

"M sent me to fetch you. She requested that we return to the Institute immediately."

The Summoner raised his eyebrows and walked away from her toward his bed. He measured his steps as if in deep thought until he sat himself down on the edge of the mattress.

"Immediately…" he said with a faux-concerned tone, his hand reaching for the bottle of Petrus Pomerol resting within a silver wine cooler.

He heard Ahri's steps and continued to furrow his brow while keeping his gaze on the floor in front of him, until finally her feet interrupted the staring contest he had initiated with the carpet.

Looking up at her with concern, he hoisted the bottle of fine wine as if it were an ill infant in need of medical care.

"Then we won't have time for a glass of wine!"

Ahri's grin remained constant. She reached down and removed the chilled bottle from his grasp, placing it back at the cooler. She proceeded to reach down and take the Summoner's hands with hers, pulling slightly to make him stand.

"We can always have a glass of wine back at my place."

The Summoner pouted as much as his personality allowed, his demeanor not dissimilar to a male child complaining to his mother.

"But-"

Ahri pressed a finger against his lips, silencing him instantly. Her touch triggered a spark within the Summoner's mind, and his eyes softened.

"No buts. Now let's go."

The couple stared into each other's eyes for several moments, and by now it was apparent that they both didn't want to leave.

But staying true to her word, Ahri slid her finger teasingly across the Summoner's lips as she walked away to retrieve her overcoat. The Summoner slowly let out a breath. He knew she was bluffing. He could see it in her eyes. The game was afoot, and all that he needed to do was ensure he participated.

A grin once again made its appearance.

Ahri's slow walk to the coatrack was perceptibly staged, much to her intention. Her golden eyes couldn't help but look back slightly with every step.

Right before she could get within arm's reach of her over coat, her progress is stopped by the Summoner's hand clasping her own. Quickly tucking away her grin, she turned around with a stern visage, her expression surprisingly convincing.

But the Summoner could see through easily, no clairvoyance required.

"What now?"

"Just one drink," the Summoner said with the smoothest voice he could muster, his eyes clearly expressing their want.

Ahri's fake defenses were quickly torn down in an instant.

Taking notice of this, the Summoner began to slightly tug on her arm, intending to guide her feet to the nearby bed. She complied, her steps slowly progressing backward as the Summoner took her other hand, their footfalls careful and precise as their eyes remained locked.

"Only one drink?"

The Summoner slid a hand up her arm, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Ahri couldn't help but blush at the action.

"Of course."

Their steps continued in a variation of a synchronized dance.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot…

Ahri closed her eyes as the Summoner's hand gently slid down her cheek before clasping her neck gently. She rolled her head around and purred, her next words coming out as a whisper.

She was his.

"You always did know how to treat a woman."

"Oh, you flatter me." the Summoner said playfully, his footsteps still pushing Ahri away from him, guiding them both to the mattress behind them.

"What you did at the hot springs still makes me blush," Ahri said as her eyes opened with a sultry flourish.

The couple's slow, trotting progress finally stopped as Ahri's legs made contact with the edge of the bed, allowing the Summoner to advance a final footfall, his hands eagerly making contact with her skin. They start at her hands before smoothing across her arms, finally taking her cheeks within their palms. Ahri looks back at the Summoner with a grin, her canines biting onto her bottom lip with playful anticipation.

The Summoner's eyebrows rose as if he just remembered the event.

"I'm glad to have granted such…notable events within your memory…" the Summoner's voice seemed preoccupied, his tone slipping away to a whisper as his skilled fingertips brushed across her face teasingly. He smiles at her increased breaths, her eyes already half-closed and fogged with arousal. Slowly his eyelids began to lower, his face closing in to hers, the distance between their lips closing fast.

"Let's just hope that I didn't forget how to treat you the way I did in that hot pool of water hm?" the Summoner whispered, before finally his mouth pushed against hers.

The Summoner could feel Ahri's grin press against his lips, a miniscule moan brushing against his cheek. Before their osculation could escalate, the Summoner separated, her taste still strong on his tongue. They share a small breath, his gaze wandering southward. He could already feel the lust mutually flowing between them. He knew that once the ball started rolling with this woman, nothing could stop it.

"So...how soon did you say we needed to leave?" the Summoner inquired again, his fingers moving down her blouse to begin undoing its buttons. He brought his gaze to her face as his hands continued to reveal more and more of her chest. She blinked enticingly, her teeth gritting themselves with desire. Her golden pupils were alight with that flame the Summoner was all too familiar with; he knew that at that second, she wanted him.

"...immediately," Ahri finally uttered, her visage expressing a twinge of regret. The Summoner closed the distance between their faces once more, a small squeak escaping Ahri's nose. Her hands instinctively slipping inside the Summoner's bathrobe to run over the solid curves of his pectorals, her breaths deep and laced with longing. Finally the Summoner separated once more with a gasp, both of their chests heaving with deep breaths. He gives her a grin.

"How soon again?"

Ahri gave in, her hands still clutching onto the Summoner's body, her own acing for his touch.

"Almost immediately."

At that, their lips meet once more, bodies beginning to engage in a dance of lust.

It wasn't their first, and from that point on it definitely was not going to be their last.

* * *

_Airship, Axiom, hot springs, what? _

_If you're wondering about the Summoner and Ahri's first encounter, go check out Foxy Lady by WaffleFace._

_Next chapter will definitely have citrus, with a hint of red wine._

_As always, review._

_Excelsior!_


	7. Conditioning

"Mmm…"

Ahri moaned into the Summoner's mouth with longing, her hands gripping the hems of his bathrobe tightly. The couple continued to stand, their mouths still engaged in a fit of osculation.

The Summoner proceeded to unbutton her blouse, button after button. Her bra, lacy black with enough space between its floral patterns to catch a glimpse of her pink nipples, is already completely exposed. A small pink ribbon graced its center. The breasts that were confined inside it protruded outward from the restraints of her blouse, longing for contact with the Summoner's chest.

Their kisses became more fervent, tongues gently clashing within the hot confines of their conjoined mouths. Ahri's tails excitedly wavered in small ministrations, their erratic movements reflecting her excitement and arousal.

Feeling the last button of her blouse slip through its respective opening, the Summoner took the dress shirt by its lapels. This motion silently indicated Ahri to separate from his lips and momentarily drop her hands to their sides. They take small, somewhat labored breaths as the Summoner began to part the front of her shirt, allowing the entirety of her abdomen to be revealed along with the lingerie that wrapped itself around her chest.

The Summoner looked up momentarily to be met with Ahri's lustful gaze, her bottom lip still consumed partially by her teeth. Her ears continued their incessant twitching, whiskers gracing her cheeks accentuated in the dim lamplight of the room. Though the delay had only lasted for a mere second or two, Ahri, being the impatient fox that she is, quickly swatted the Summoner's hands away to remove the blouse herself. Her breasts jiggled from the effort, and they shook some more once she crumpled her shirt and threw it aside hastily. Before the Summoner could discharge an amused quip, his lips are assaulted by hers, their faces entangled in another bout of ardent kisses.

Ahri's tails slipped from behind her, running across the Summoner's bathrobe with the intent of removing it completely. Her hands beat them to it once they grasped the top edges of the towely wrap and began to slide it off. Evident by her dominant actions, Ahri's lust had completely burst from their reservoirs of tact (which happened quite often).

Never wanting to be bested by a woman, the Summoner seized her arms by their wrists, taking Ahri by complete surprise. She struggled slightly, a disapproving, whiny moan expressing her resentment at his sudden action. Separating from her mouth, the Summoner grinned at her pouting eyes.

"You really think that you could have your fun before I could have mine?"

The answer was evident in Ahri's adamant glare.

Unmindful of her desire, the Summoner proceeded to slip his hands skillfully in two different locations; the first atop her breast, where he discharged a rough squeeze, and the second slipping in between her waistline and the hemline of her skirt to snake into her lacy panties.

"_Ough!_"

Ahri shut her eyes tight at the sudden action, expression changing in an instant as mouth opened to a wide 'O' and her eyebrows furrowed deeper.

Grinning at her reaction, the Summoner slid his hand deeper within her undergarment, running his fingers along the edges of her folds. His grin widened at the amount of warm moisture already accumulated around its perimeter. Ahri's teeth bit down viciously on her bottom lip, stifling a moan that struggled to bubble out of her lips. The Summoner kept his gaze on her face as he skillfully felt his way around the confines of her underwear with one hand, his other beginning to grope her lace-covered breast more fervently.

The combined actions caused small expulsion of fluid to dribble out from her folds into the Summoner's hand. His erection bulged within the bathrobe.

Ahri's hands limply hung onto his right arm as his ministrations progressed. Any resistance that she had before was quickly dispelled by the Summoner's assault. She cracked open her eyelids to look into the Summoner's lustful gaze, her senses cannonaded with increasing amounts of pleasure. Ahri was helpless under his touch, his confident, overpowering eyes greatly contrasting from her weak, longing half-lidded gaze.

The Summoner's hand gave a last, rough squeeze to her breast. She groaned with ecstasy, eyes shutting tight once more. The Summoner then moved his left hand over her chest, across her shoulder to hover above the clasp of her bra. This placement of his arm resulted in the nook of his arm to rest atop her shoulder, her breasts pressing against his chest tightly as their bodies shared an embrace. Ahri opened her eyes at the development, but is unable to take any action as two of the Summoner's fingers began to rub the outer area of her vulva in slow, constant trails. Seeing her eyes slightly reveal themselves, the Summoner takes the opportune moment to have their lips make contact, his tongue slipping within her mouth, simultaneously plunging two of his fingers within Ahri's soaked folds.

"_Mmmf!_"

She struggled against him, but the Summoner maintained his dominance, his arm still over her shoulder.

_Sss…_

Ahri felt a small heat scathe her bare back momentarily as the Summoner's palm ignited the clasp of her bra, letting the conjoined sides to fall limp, subsequently releasing the lingerie's tight grip on Ahri's breasts. Smoothing his palm across her bare back, the Summoner rested his left hand on the area above her waistline, continuing his assault inside of her black underwear. Separating from Ahri's lips, the Summoner allowed leeway for her bra to lose its grip from her flesh, the undergarment silently falling to the ground in a lacy flourish.

The Summoner felt his heart increase its rate slightly at the sight of her bared breasts, their perfect roundness tantalizing and completely exposed for his touch. Taut, pink nipples rested at their tips, looking up at him alluringly. The top curve of the protruding mounds of flesh joined in the center as canyon of silk, tempting him to plunge his face in between them.

But tact demanded patience.

Tearing his eyes away from her exposed chest, the Summoner continued to the next phase. His fingers, completely drenched and sticky from Ahri's essence, carefully extracted themselves from her womanhood before they slipped out from her skirt entirely, leaving a translucent trail of fluids along her skin in their wake.

Because of the previous ministrations that had occurred mere moments before, the fox's senses are still too stunned to stop the Summoner's actions from continuing, allowing him to quickly grasp the zipper of her skirt. With a deft flick of his wrist, the zipper parted, allowing the entire plaid skirt to slide down Ahri's silky legs. Momentarily stopping at the apex of her sprouting tails, the skirt finally made contact with the ground after the appendages slipped within its opening.

By now the only thing that Ahri wore on her body are her black thigh-highs, stiletto heels and the dripping lace panties hugging her hips.

Before the Summoner could review his work with his eyes, he is taken off-guard when Ahri's hands gripped the back of his shoulders as she lowered herself to the bed behind her. Glancing at her visage, he could see the increasing lust expressed in the flowering blush around her whiskers. The frantic twitching of her ears had slowed.

Slowly Ahri lay herself on the sheets, guiding the Summoner over her, hands still clasped behind his neck.

_Clop. Clop._

Her heels hit the floor.

Only lace and stockings remained.

Her nine tails spread themselves evenly, almost indistinguishable amongst the shrill white of the bed's sheets. The pace of her breath had decreased its pace, but her heartbeat still maintained rapidity.

Ahri wriggled a few more inches across the bed before halting her progress, her hair girding the perimeter of her head in elegant rays. She looked at the Summoner for several moments, silently expressing her lust through her eyes.

Then, her soft hands proceeded to separate, smoothing over the back of the Summoner's shoulders to smooth over his firm biceps. Subsequently the bathrobe that had been scantily clothing his body fell away, the weathered knot at its waistline undone as the rest of the towel covering slipped off to the Summoner's side. Ahri's eyes broke from the Summoner's gaze as she beheld his body in its exposed glory.

Lace and stockings on Ahri, nothing but skin for the Summoner.

Slowly returning her eyes to meet with his, it only takes a second for hell to break loose.

"Mmmf…."

The couple's heads clash into a furious kiss, their lips clasping together to fit all the right slots before melding into different shapes. Miniscule leeway is allowed between their mouths, every ministration resulting in electric sensations pricking their lips.

The Summoner's arms continued to support him, his palms set on either side of Ahri's head as her hands maintained their grasp on the back of his neck. Tongues were mutually set forth to intimately tangle and wrestle with each other, further accumulating the fireworks of sensory satisfaction. Moans began to be shared between the couple as the osculation escalated in its intensity, breaths taken whenever enough space presented itself between their lips.

"Mmm…_fwah_….mmmf…"

Ahri's desperate grasp on her partner's head begins to ruffle his hair, her gripping fingers sending small spikes of pain in his head. But her skilled tongue completely made up for her almost violent ministrations, pleasure being the dominant sensation conducting through the wires of the Summoner's system. Ahri's tails, though flattened and spread beneath their bodies, continued to slightly wriggle in the air, physically expressing her satisfaction. Occasionally one of her furry appendages would jerk upward in a fashion that is dissimilar to a cat's tail bolting vertically due to fear.

It just so happened that a stray tail in between her legs executed this action, making contact with the Summoner's erect member.

"Mmmf-_aaaugh!_"

He forced himself to separate his lips from hers, small strings of saliva following suit. A loud groan released itself from his system as Ahri's tail remained in its erect position, the soft follicles of fur maintaining torturous contact with his member.

Realizing the cause of his reaction, Ahri grinned mischievously through her pants of air. Seizing control of the erect tail, she had the appendage further its vertical progress, snaking it around and around the Summoner's girth until its tip made the bottom of his shaft. Satisfied with her repositioning, Ahri's tail softly squeezed, pressuring her soft fur against the throbbing erection in a manner that almost made the Summoner yell out in ecstasy.

Upon feeling the sensation in his nether regions, the Summoner's hands instinctively grabbed onto the sheets of the bed tightly, a loud groan of ecstasy escaping his lips as his vision clouded with pleasure. Ahri continued with her actions, twisting and squeezing her tail around its confined prey. Precum began to spurt from its tip, the clear lubricant dribbling down her groomed fibers in concentrated drops.

"Ahri..."

The Summoner is unable to resist to any of Ahri's actions, his will to fight back completely trampled upon as her tail continued its lewd and torturous actions on his manhood.

"Answering your last inquiry, Summoner…" Ahri whispered, her lips barely brushing against his ear.

She let loose another tight squeeze of her tail, slipping another white appendage to position under his testicles. The second tail began to tickle and tease the loose skin, its follicles further sending pricks of white hot pleasure down the Summoner's spine. Beads of sweat began to slip out of their pores across his forehead.

Ahri grinned.

"…yes, I do think I can have my fun before you can have yours."

At that, her lips parted, her hands pulled down with increased force, and her tongue stuck out from her mouth to finally enter the ear of her partner. The sudden warmth within his ear canal took the Summoner off-guard, but before he could protest or mutter any comment, his cock throbbed as Ahri's tail continued to milk him. His legs buckled at every import of pleasure bombarding his system from what seemed to be every direction.

As his knees collapsed to the bed, his lower body followed suit, resulting in the head of his member to press tightly against the front of Ahri's lacy lingerie.

A bolt of electricity shot through his nervous system, the head of his girth shinier with yet another spurt of precum. Taking this new development to her advantage, Ahri's tail began to rub the head of the Summoner's girth against the face of her panties, simultaneously rubbing up and down the shaft with slow strokes.

The Summoner continued to grip onto the bed tightly as these actions continued, Ahri's mouth completely engulfing his ear as her tongue filled every nook inside his hearing canal. He panted at the new developments occurring around the area of his nether regions, every inlet of physical sense of his body clogged with ecstasy. He felt his testicles teased and suddenly gripped by Ahri's skilled tails, further building the accumulating pressure at the base of his shaft. It wouldn't be long before the pressure would release, his seed rushing forth to coat his partner's lower abdomen.

Ahri knew this all too well, and continued eagerly with her ministrations. Her position of power over the man that was positioned _physically _over her aroused her in a way nothing else could. She loved toying with men's emotions, with every feeling they had. The art of seduction and carnal satisfaction used to be a necessity for survival, something as essential as eating or sleeping.

Nowadays, it was more of a hobby. A hobby that she indulged herself in too often.

But the Summoner was the only man she could truly feel satisfied with, physically and mentally. He was the sort of man who loved control and having situations turn in his direction, but he was also a gentleman, never allowing a woman not to enjoy herself. Though his personality definitely seemed to contradict his tact character, in a way they seemed to go hand in hand.

Especially when it came to his conduct in bed.

She loved his control, and in turn she loved _to _control. Her partner loved the art of copulation almost more than she did, his nights spent with almost more Champions than she had spent nights with.

In summary, Ahri viewed the Summoner as a friend who shared the same interests, a man who would allow her pleasure while also taking control when his pleasure was needed to be satiated.

_Sluurp_

Ahri sucked her tongue out of the Summoner's ear, several short strings of saliva following with it. Her folds burned, yearning for stimulation as her actions continued to press the Summoner's manhood against her nether regions. The thin fabric that blocked her entrance from her partner's throbbing appendage is already soaked with the mixed preparatory juices of her puffy folds and the constant stream of precum from the Summoner's erection.

"_Aaaugh…_"

The pressure at the base of the Summoner's girth was near its breaking point, emphasized by the large surplus of precum spurting from its tip to sodden the tail wrapped around its trunk. Feeling the impending release, Ahri exerted increased effort with her actions, the fur of her tail bristling against the sensitive vein within its grasp with heightened vigor. She could feel its throbbing, each pulsation resulting in another small emission of precum to further stain her panties. Her ears perked at the constant groaning of her partner, his breaths ragged and deep. She tightened her tail's grasp.

"Ahri…" the Summoner hissed, his teeth gritting themselves to sand as the head of his cock traversed the sewn lacy patterns on his partner's undergarment.

Deciding that it was finally time, Ahri jerked her tail forward, pushing the Summoner's cock against the black fabric, sending a huge shock of ecstasy shooting through his nervous system. The violent action pushed the Summoner over his limit, his breath taken away as he felt the hot pressure begin to burst from his member.

At the last second, Ahri's tail redirected the direction of his manhood, pointing it at the area of the bed below her panties; semen was hard to clean (these lace panties were handmade in Demacia!).

Giving one last tug, her tail is suddenly soaked in hot, white goop. The Summoner's shuddering groans fill her ears as his climax hijacks all of his control. His member throbbed with every spurt of semen it released, large globules of the seed gushing all over Ahri's tail before cascading onto the bed. The slit at the tip of the Summoner girth is not large enough to release his seed entirely, resulting in the semen to spray in irregular patterns, widening its…splash zone.

Ahri could feel stray ropes of cum latch onto her inner thighs, taking her by surprise. Still, her tail tugged and squeezed, milking as much of the Summoner's produce as it could. His climax continued, his body shuddering from sheer ecstasy as his cum splattered and accumulated into a large warm puddle below his groin, the semen seeping to meet with the backside of his partner's panties (much to her dismay).

_Splork!_

A last concentrated spurt of seed latched itself onto Ahri's tail before the Summoner's girth finally began to go limp, last remnants of his climax slowly dribbling out from its head to be wiped away by white fur. He panted, unable to comprehend or react to the unexpected turn of events. He feels the tails responsible slink away as constrictors slip into tall grass after finishing a meal. He heard Ahri tsk softly at her semen-drenched tail staining her precious black panties.

Even after the lewd ordeal, the Summoner still wasn't satisfied. Which was to be expected; after all, he _is _the Summoner.

He took a few moments to recover, his breaths deep and concentrated. Finally, he repositioned his knees to support him, his arms pushing his body above Ahri's once more. He looked down at her face, her arms spread out on either side of her in an innocent fashion, palms facing upward.

She grinned at him coyly, her ears drooping with the act.

He glared at her, but within his pupils it wasn't hard to see his enjoyment at the surprise.

"Is something wrong, Summoner?" she said, one of her tails reaching upward to stroke the side of his cheek. "You didn't enjoy my…conditioning?"

A grin slipped onto her face, tips of her curved lips accentuated by the whiskers on either side of her mouth.

The Summoner maintained his glare, but had a brow attempt to hide itself beneath his hairline.

"Of course I did darling..."

The Summoner interrupted himself by descending past her head slowly, allowing the skin of their cheeks to touch ever-so-slightly, causing Ahri to purr. He furthered his teasing by extending the tip of his tongue to run across the bottom of her jawline, her perked nipples rubbing slightly against his chest, miniscule friction still contributing to her arousal. Ahri released a whispered moan, her teats electrified and begging for more stimulation. A few of her tails reached over her body to slowly stroke the back of the Summoner's neck, encouraging his ministrations to continue as his teasing continued to intensify her desire.

Suddenly his arms lifted him slowly, separating him from her skin. Ahri opened her eyes and looked at the Summoner, unable to express any emotion other than lust.

"...I'm just disappointed that I didn't get the first shot," the Summoner finished.

Tact decided he had endured enough patience.

Ahri's vision suddenly turned to black the texture of soft fabric pressing against her eyelids. The back of her head is lifted off the mattress by a rough hand before the fabric is tightly knotted around the circumference of her skull. Simultaneously, she could feel her arms forcefully stretched above her head, her wrists seized and bound with the same material that was now girding her face.

The only protest she could utter is a yelp of surprise before she is silenced by a vicious kiss. She squirms, squeaking in resistance as her mouth is assaulted with hungry kisses, the Summoner's lips pursed with every peck. Her ears instinctively vibrate in alarm and apprehension. With the sense of sight seized from her possession, her hearing and sense of smell come into play at double their usual potency.

Pushing past the strong scent of sweat, cologne and cigarettes, Ahri could catch a whiff of burnt fabric. It didn't take long before she also feels the bareness of her legs, which only a few moments ago were clothed with her stockings. At the realization, she tones down her resistance. Her mind's eye could easily visualize the Summoner's quick, magic-experienced hands deftly moving down her body, the miniscule concentrated Ignite spell adroitly singing and effectively allowing a makeshift zipper for him to slip her stockings off while he kept her occupied with his teasing actions.

One of the benefits (and disadvantages) of sleeping with a Summoner: you never know when the tables might turn.

* * *

_Yeaaah…sorry that I'm late with this chapter. Lemons are hard. As you can see this particular piece of citrus isn't complete, but I promise I'll publish the remainder of this encounter by the end of this week._

_Hope you enjoyed the "conditioning". Be sure to review!_

_Excelsior!_


	8. Drunkenness from Consumption

Protest ebbed away to be replaced with consent. Ahri's arms remained stretched above her head, her wrists almost painfully rubbing against each other as a result of the stockings tightly binding them together.

Her lips struggled to return the parries and blows the Summoner's mouth constantly delivered. She squirmed with every move her partner made, his ferocious kisses making it difficult for her breaths to be sufficient for her lungs' needs. Her tongue grappled with the Summoner's with difficulty, his merciless exploration of her mouth contributing to the mounting feeling of helplessness.

With her body exposed and completely outstretched for the Summoner's devices, the feeling vulnerability intertwined with the encompassing vines of desire that looped through every crevice of her psyche. Though she had been in this position several times before, it had been quite a long span of time since she had been in a submissive state. Especially in one that was so utterly lewd.

Suddenly her lips are left bare, their soft pink surface throbbing slightly after being abandoned by their rough opponent. Ahri is already winded, expressed by the rapid bursts of consumed air exiting her throat. Her chest heaved with effort, but Ahri still tensed her body in anticipation for the Summoner's next action. Instead, she felt the warmth of his close body depart, her chest and area above her waist suddenly encompassed with placid air. The bottom portion of her frame is still pinned down by her partner's weight.

Ahri's ears vellicated in concentration.

She heard the distinct squeak of the mattress as the Summoner moved, then heard the miniscule dust particles being whipped aside by his arm as he reached for something on the edge of the bed. The crunch of ice grinding against each other, the slight tinkle of glass hitting the edge of thin metal.

The near-silent _pop_ of a cork.

Then, Ahri's nose is cannonaded with a mix pleasant scents; most notably, the sharp tang of berries, dull saccharinity of mocha, and a hint of earthy oak.

At the same time, the Summoner's voice broke her from her blind observation.

"Petrus Pomerol, 8 CLE," he explained, the sound of liquid sloshing inside a contained met Ahri's ears as he swirled the wine within its green bottle, further releasing its pleasant scent into the air. "It's quite a fruity kind of wine with hints of berries, mocha, and vanilla. A truly beautiful vintage."

He went silent then, and Ahri knew he was grinning. Just as suddenly she felt the weight of his body shift, and the warmth of his body over hers returned. She felt his face directly above hers, his breaths brushing against the tip of her nose. Her heart rate quickened.

"And I think we both know the effective aphrodisiacal attributes of vanilla don't we?"

Ahri remained silent, responding by giving him a smile and running her tongue over the softness of her lips.

Understanding her silent request, the Summoner hoisted his body slightly over hers, one hand supporting his weight while the other held the bottle containing the rich, vintage wine.

"I suppose you want a taste?"

"Just give it to me," Ahri said with a playful growl.

Obliging, the Summoner positioned the bottle's head over her mouth before proceeding to allow a few drops of the wine to drip onto her bottom lip. The sweet distilled nectar entered her mouth, dripping onto her tongue. Ahri licked her lips. More drops fell, silently splattering onto her mouth in miniscule showers of rich red. The wine was delicious. Already the alcohol was taking effect, every drop of wine slipping down her throat loosening her mental hold on soberness. She was too distracted by the flavor of the vintage to notice the vanilla's aphrodisiacal effects on her libido.

Suddenly the drops began to wander, seemingly by the Summoner's will. One drop plopped right below her mouth, the next one just on the edge of her bottom lip, the next on her chin. The drops progressed downward until they began to trickle down her neck.

_Plip plop, plip plop…_

Dazed, Ahri smoothed her tongue over her lips one last time, feeling the cold drips of wine traverse down her body in more concentrated, splattering drops. Still, she allowed the actions to continue without any acknowledgment or protest.

The Summoner concentrated on his work with vigor, his wrist skillfully tipping the bottle within his hand's grasp, letting loose the desired amount of fermented juice over the creamy skin of the woman below him. The drops of wine pooled together in small liquid beads after splattering around the area of impact, their rich red contrasting the pale fleshy hue of Ahri's skin.

Goosebumps emerged involuntarily from her skin, called forth by the cold temperature of the wine drops that crawled slowly across her flesh.

As the Summoner progressed downward and reached the tall, rounded peaks of her breasts, he allowed the drops of liquid exiting the green head of the wine bottle to conjoin in long, delicate trickles. The two, soft hills protruded from her chest in an arousing display, their curves pushed out from her body as a result of her arms outstretched above her head. The mere sight of the succulent flesh drove the Summoner mad, their curves, every curvature outlined by the light arousing him beyond belief.

Gyrating his wrist slightly, the Summoner watched with boyish delight as the small streams of wine made wet contact with the scintillating curves of Ahri's breasts. His pulse quickened at the sight of rivulets of red running across the curvature of the assets, her pristine skin stained by the trails of crimson.

The small streams spread out around the full roundness of her chest, much of the wine accumulating in the warm valley between her mounds. Ahri's breaths continued to quicken, the rising and falling actions of her bosom aiding the rivulets of wine to advance southward, leaving faint maroon trails across her flat abdomen.

Already, the fox's mental processes began to slow as a result of the miniscule amount of alcohol being absorbed by her skin. This was the Summoner's intention, and it wouldn't be long until the wine bottle ran dry, and his partner completely intoxicated.

"Ough!"

Ahri moaned in surprise as she felt the Summoner's mouth suddenly clasp over her left breast. His tongue eagerly began to flick and caress the erect pink nipple caught between his lips, the sweet taste of wine urging him onward. His partner urged him to continue with pleasurable groans, her outbursts continuously growing more and more uncontrolled. The vanilla, its scent and taste alone, was already effectively expressing its use as an aphrodisiac.

And the bottle was only missing a quarter of its contents.

The Summoner left Ahri's breast, protruding his tongue to run over the luscious valley between. Wine and sweat intermingled to create a sensual flavor that heightened his arousal, every second his mouth kept in contact with her skin, the more he wanted her. Replacing his absent mouth with his left hand, the Summoner supported himself by gripping the wine bottle tightly, digging it into the mattress as his lips slowly found its way around the untouched teat of his partner's right breast.

_Schlurk, schlmf,slurmph_

Wet resonances were produced as his ardent oral assault on Ahri's breasts continued, his left hand massaging its captive with equal vigor. He could feel soft tingles as his partner's tails instinctively coiled and writhed around his limbs, silently encouraging his ministrations. Ahri's moans had ceased their unceasing appearance, her lips pursed to restrain her outbursts. Little did she know that her silence merely encouraged the Summoner to continue with an increased robustness.

The Summoner groaned as his erect manhood throbbed, his desire almost reaching its peak. Pursing his lips, his mouth separated from Ahri's breast with a deliberate slowness, a string of saliva bridging his mouth and her erect teat. Readjusting himself, he looked at his work, his left hand still clutching her left breast, a thumb toggling the rocky nipple gracing its peak. Intermingled with his trails of saliva, the leftover wine was a murky pink, its slow crawl over Ahri's skin glistening in the lamplight.

The Petrus Pomerol in his right hand made its presence known. The Summoner's eyes glazed over with desire; it was time to finish conditioning.

Shifting his weight, the Summoner lifted the bottle over her body again before tipping it at a flatter angle than before. As a result, the wine poured itself over her exposed skin in a continuous stream; trickles combining together to conjoin into long strings of faint scarlet. Once the wine made contact with her skin, Ahri gasped in surprise at the cold temperature, her heart rate rapidly escalating to the point where her breaths became erratic.

Her primal instincts kicked into gear, resulting in inadvertent squirming. Her tails attempting to ward off the continuous torrent of wine, only to be swatted away by her partner's determined hand. The sight of her retaliation merely aroused the Summoner even more.

He continued to pour the wine down, down, down her body, watching as the rivulets of red conjoined into a torrent slowly inching across her abdomen. Soon her navel is completely engulfed, the edges of the advancing fermented nectar continuing its slow advance downward. Some small rivulets broke off from the main group, drawing small lines across her skin as they plummeted to the sheets.

The Summoner stopped the downpour, his breath quick and eager, eyes glistening at the sight of his partner almost completely covered in the sweet alcohol. By now even Ahri's primal resistance has worn down, her tails merely flopping about in a small, uncoordinated frenzy. Her head lolled about, her teeth gritting themselves as her skin slowly began to absorb the alcohol contained within the Pomerol drenching her body. She winced at the throbbing wetness of her folds, her body begging for the Summoner's touch.

One look at her blindfolded face, her arms still outstretched, pushing out her ribs and chest even further, and the Summoner decided to adhere to her wishes. And his own.

Setting down the green bottle, he proceeded to use his free hands to smooth down Ahri's body, his palms grasping the edges of her thin frame. Starting from the area beneath her armpits, the Summoner smoothed his fingers over her soft skin slowly, his thumbs brushing against her breasts, palms brushing past her waist. Ahri groaned at the slight contact, the teasing driving her wild. She finally felt the hands at the top hem of her panties, the fingers eagerly grasping the lacy fabric before giving it a slight tug.

Aiding her partner, Ahri lifted her posterior up from the bed momentarily, feeling the undergarment slip off of her silky legs in a slow exit, her most forbidden areas now completely exposed. She gasped as she resettled her posterior, feeling the pool of wine cascade over her warmth, the alcohol immediately seeping into the pink, sensitive flesh of her inner walls. Ahri let out a breath. She was already barely grasping soberness.

The skin of her legs tingled as her panties slid off with the Summoner's aid, the lacy undergarments finally slipping through her raised feet before being tossed unceremoniously to the floor. Now the two friends were even, their bodies completely exposed, ready for action.

The Summoner gazed upon his partner's naked flesh with a discerning, lust-filled stare. His eyes roamed across Ahri's skin as her body continued its small ministrations, all of her muscles constantly moving in almost indiscernible movements. The wine sparkled as it slowly dripped, slowly beginning to be completely absorbed by her skin. The large puddle of Pomerol that had pooled on her abdomen was slowly moving the majority of its volume into the welcoming, exposed womanhood between Ahri's thighs. The rest of the scarlet delicacy remained scattered across her frontal body, her breasts highlighted by their contrasting color.

Ahri could feel the Summoner's eyes. She could hear his breath quicken, quicken, and quicken more still, his arousal finally reaching its breaking point. Her heartbeats began to throb irregularly, the alcohol effectively loosening her hold on tact. Lack of movement and vision was no hindrance to her any longer, the once-painful sensation of her bound wrists already forgotten, as was the lack of sight. The vanilla infused into the wine had already taken its toll on her; by now she is desperate for her partner's touch, for his skin to mesh against hers in the chaotic harmony she thrived to experience.

The Summoner licked his lips at the sight of her pink, exposed folds slowly being saturated with more wine, visible drops of red entering the moist cave. He recalled the sweet yet bitter flavor of her essence when his tongue had made its acquaintance with her delicate flesh before. And now, his eyes beholding this forbidden area become sodden with a mix of lubrication and fine wine, there was only one logical action that he could possibly take.

His hands gently made contact with Ahri's erect knees, slowly splitting them apart. His eyes half-veiled themselves as his head closed in on his partner's flawless legs. Lips parted, the Summoner advanced, feeling Ahri's legs split apart, allowing his actions to continue without any hindrance. His mouth made contact with a small area of skin directly above her left kneecap, his tongue instantly beginning to draw slow, concentrated circles while his lips provided a warm, gentle suction.

The Summoner continued, slowly traversing across the warm, silky skin of Ahri's legs, reveling in their utter smoothness. As his lips maintained contact, his hands did as well, their progress toward the warmth of her petals advanced at the same pace. The breaths taken through his nose are saturated with the tender scent of lilacs, and as hands finally found a firm holding on her hips and his head slowly advanced closer and closer to her spread folds, the lilacs intermingled with the aroma of wine, the latter scent growing stronger with each passing centimeter.

He could hear Ahri's whimpering moans, their sincerity amplified by the alcohol in her system. He could hear the sharp breaths that hissed through her teeth, her back arching instinctually every few moments in preparation of his arrival.

Then he recalled the wine of Petrus Pomerol, barely less than a quarter of the distilled brew still inside the green bottle.

That would be a surprise for later.

"Oh…hwa…"

Ahri couldn't restrain herself. It seemed the only restraint she possessed were the singed stockings bound around her skin.

Finally, the Summoner's lips arrived at the erogenous area directly below Ahri's vaginal folds, his oral ministrations resulting in secretions of nectar to leak out of his partner's warmth. Slowing his progress and tightening his finger's grasp on her hips, the Summoner fully extended his tongue, retracting his lips to only use the tip of his oral appendage for his enjoyment.

Moving in an agonizingly-slow pace, the Summoner's tongue began at the bottom of Ahri's exposed, naturally tonsured womanhood before slowly sliding up its left edge, pausing briefly every moment or so to lap up the sweetness of her wine-infused essence. The mere scent of her inner walls intoxicated him, the warmth wafting from inside of her making his cheeks blush. As soon as he started, Ahri had begun to groan loudly, occasional words or exclamations increasingly slurred.

The Summoner's tongue finally arrived at the miniscule nub of her clitoris, where it proceeded to tease it with playful flicks, resulting in a loud, lustful groan from his partner. He advanced, the tip of his tongue running down the right edge of Ahri's folds with its deliberate slowness, the temptation to halt and plunge the tongue's entirety within her warmth lingering as a specter on a shoulder.

He maintained his firm hold on Ahri's hips, feeling her shudder with pleasure as his actions advanced. The sweet taste of her flesh combined with the whisper of wine was exquisite, the Summoner's taste buds begging for more. Their wish would be fulfilled less than a moment away, when his tongue finally completed the full circle at the base starting point of her warmth. To the Summoner's delight and surprise, a clear sheen of lubrication had seeped out of her folds during his stimulating action, its transparent veil extending from its point of origin to cover the small entry of her anus.

His mouth moved on its own accord. Within a millisecond, the throbbing, moist warmth of Ahri's entry is entered by the Summoner's tongue. His lips enclose around the outer folds, effectively allowing all of the womanhood's products to directly flow into his mouth. Ahri virtually screamed at the advancement. The Summoner gained more continuous verbal responses as he gripped his fingers tighter, his tongue pushing itself deep inside of her whilst wriggling and stimulating, its every action brushing against the sensitive inner walls.

The Summoner's taste buds are satisfied within a few seconds of his oral exploration, his mouth filled to the brim with a continuous outflow of wine-drenched lubrication as time elapsed. He sucked and savored each burst of lubrication that spurted into his mouth as his tongue continuously plunged and writhed within the tight, moist grotto.

By now, the Summoner could already tell that intoxication had taken hold of his partner's brain. Every word that is uttered (or yelled) is completely slurred and almost incomprehensible, her breaths erratic. Another product of her intoxication, her womanhood's production of lubricants increased dramatically, translucent nectar now gushing in a steady flow into the Summoner's throat. His hands' grip tightened as the inner walls of his partner tightened as well, taking him by surprise. He could already feel the inner walls fluctuating with their tautness, the leeway for his tongue's movement beginning to lessen with each passing second. It would only be a short matter of time before-

"Shumonwa…_aurgh…_"

_Splrnk! _

The Summoner's mouth is suddenly flooded with a sudden torrent of heat, Ahri's inner walls closing in on themselves as an orgasm escaped her system. He widened his eyes in surprise, struggling to swallow the rapid inundation of sticky juices that spurted into his mouth. The hands that held fast to her waist struggled to hold their ground as Ahri's back arched repeatedly, her tails erratically exploding into life once more. Drunken, incomprehensible outbursts and shrill screams of ecstasy accompanied the climax that continued to rack her body, her sensory system riding out the release with a satisfaction that nothing else could fulfill.

Ahri's fogged mental processes are further clogged with the pleasurable sensations, all of her outbursts unrepressed with words failing to formulate on her lips. Suddenly her breath is further stolen from her when she feels the Summoner's thumb begin to vigorously rub her clitoris, sending raw sparks of electricity up her spine. Only a few seconds pass after this action is induced that Ahri sustained another orgasm, her body undulating in uncontrollable spasms of sheer euphoria. Her mouth is fully agape as she yells out in pleasure, her body arcing before thrusting itself for more stimulation. Rivulets of saliva dribble out the sides of her mouth to stain her whiskers, her body drunk off of Petrus Pomerol and sheer pleasure.

The Summoner nearly choked from the second climax, his mouth forced to separate from his partner's womanhood to resort to lap up everything that was produced from Ahri's moistness. Her inner thighs were suddenly stained by a sudden gush of orgasmic nectar, the outburst accompanied by another slurred groan. His hands' grip began to loosen as her body began to undulate in small bursts, its wild, fitful spasms reduced to satisfied writhing. The climaxes finally drew to a slow halt, Ahri's body settling onto the bed. The Summoner gave one last lick of her worn womanhood, running his tongue from the base to its top. Ahri shivered.

She continued to heave for breath, sweat already pouring out of every pore. Her ears gave small twitches, their fur beginning to settle before jolting to silent attention with every attempt. The wine on her body was already completely absorbed into her system, red stains and sticky trails on her skin and the sheets the only evidence that they were there in the first place. She could hear the Summoner stir again.

No time was wasted. Still in recovery, Ahri felt the strong hands of her partner move up from their initial position of her hips to slowly traverse her smooth curves in slow deliberateness. Her rapid heartbeat maintained its pace as the hands made their way up her body, the tingling sensation of the callous skin smoothing against hers making Ahri shiver. The hands continued their progress before stopping at the bottom curvature of her breasts. Unable to see any of his actions, Ahri flinched, her muscles tensing again.

Her recovery was only beginning to slowly ebb away when she felt the hands move behind her body to grasp her back in a strong grip. In her drunken state, Ahri could only comply as she felt the Summoner lift her up, forcing her into a sitting position. Her bound arms were brought over her head to be placed around the Summoner's neck.

She heard his breaths, rapid and desperate as hers. She felt his erection poking her inner thigh slightly as she instinctually positioned herself over him, the hands on her back aiding her by gripping her waist. Her sixth sense could easily sense the lustful vibes rolling off of his body in waves. His heartbeat boomed and echoed in her bosom as their chests made contact. She felt one of his hands leave her body, the hollow _cnk _of flesh grasping a container made of glass meeting her sharp ears.

She could hear the wine slosh within its confines.

Gods, she wanted him, and the feeling was definitely mutual.

But even in her drunken state, Ahri worried about the hangover guaranteed to assault her in the morning after all of this was over.

* * *

_With the way this Ahri lemon smut is going, I'm afraid this novel's going to turn into an Ahri fanfiction. ._. _

_But fear not! No matter how much I love Ahri nsfw fanfiction, I will make this a plot-centric story with lots of other lemons as well (not with just LeBlanc, mind you. There may be some other Champions, if you all behave)._

_Now then, let's hear your feedback. I hope you enjoyed this little addition. The next chapter will be the final blow. And I don't mean that literally. Please._

_Excelsior!_


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